Lifeline
by howzat
Summary: Tony screws up when a friend is killed during an undercover op and Gibbs learns that trust is a twoway street.This story is complete  a new chapter will be posted every day or two.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

The little chapel was packed. Outside, an autumn rain persuaded the first leaves off the trees, but inside it was warm and quiet, the silence broken only by hushed voices and the murmur of the organ. A few late arrivals shed dripping coats by the door and were ushered quickly to their places, nodding acknowledgement to others as they passed.

Gibbs and his team were there for the funeral of NCIS Special Agent Pete Fielding, who'd been killed in a drive-by shooting a few days earlier while on a week's vacation. Sitting three rows back from Pete's wife Sally, her family and Director Morrow, Kate could just see past them to the flower-covered casket. She eyed the floral arrangements approvingly and felt herself relax as she took in the atmosphere. Catholic churches always made her feel at home.

She'd been to a funeral here once before, when Ellie, younger sister of her best friend from college, had been killed in a traffic accident. The polished wood, the arching roof and the stained glass had all somehow given her comfort, she remembered, and it was the same today.

The Steinway sitting at the front near the casket hadn't been there then, though … Someone jostled her arm as they brushed past down the narrow aisle, distracting her. Her eyes widened as she looked up at the man now bending to murmur his condolences to Pete's family.

"Tony!" She leaned across McGee. No response. "TONY!" Someone in the pew in front turned around to look at her and Kate coloured slightly at her faux pas. "Tony!" she whispered again.

DiNozzo remained oblivious, his eyes resting on his hands clasped in his lap. McGee tugged his sleeve and pointed to Kate.

"Kate?" He seemed ... not confused, exactly, more as though he'd been off somewhere else in his head.

"Simmonds". She jerked her head towards the newcomer. "I didn't think he'd be here, wasn't he just posted to Gitmo? He looks like hell".

Tony's sudden intake of breath surprised her. She glanced at him questioningly, taken aback by the expression on his face as he stared at Agent Simmonds.

"What's wrong?" Kate bent closer, causing McGee to shrink backwards to make himself smaller. Tony, his eyes fixed on the man near the front pew, didn't answer. Simmonds, who did indeed look less than well, straightened and made his way back to a seat somewhere behind them.

Tony had come back from a break two days ago with bags under his eyes and, unusually for him, no interest in pilfering any food left lying unguarded on her desk. Frat brother holiday, Kate thought; they never know when to stop. Eighteen or older, I hope, she'd teased Tony, but he'd let it go.

This morning he'd remained uncharacteristically subdued, head bent over his desk, not speaking to anyone much except about the Fielding shooting, their current case. Gibbs had snapped at him twice for inattention, but Tony hadn't seemed to care.

Kate had put it down to the funeral. Tony and Pete Fielding had been friends, and he'd come back from his vacation to hear his friend was gone. The death of one of their own was always hard to take, and they were all here now to pay their respects, Gibbs and Ducky included. Abby, with the Director's approval and no urgent work on hand, had finished her caseload early to attend the service, and Jimmy Palmer had been left to staff the morgue.

Now Kate noticed the lines of tension around Tony's mouth. She opened her mouth to speak to him again but shut it as the organ swelled and the priest began to make his way down the aisle. As the familiar strains of the ritual took hold of her, she put other thoughts from her mind. When the eulogies began, she retreated into a reverie of her own, oblivious to the cadence of the voices around her.

A sudden silence brought her back to herself and she became aware of a ripple of movement along the pew. The rest of the team were staring at Tony, who'd risen from his seat at the other end of the row and was making his way to the front. Even Gibbs lost his poker face for a moment.

"McGee! What's happening?" She elbowed Tim gently in the ribs.

"I … don't know, exactly". McGee glanced at her, frowning.

"Where's Tony going?"

"Didn't you hear? They called him up front. Sally's asked him to play some special piece of music, apparently".

"Tony?" Kate's voice rose slightly in amazement. "Tony's going to play something? I don't see his guitar".

"Caitlin, dear, please …" Ducky murmured from the other side of Gibbs. Beside him, Abby's mouth had dropped open slightly.

"Sorry, Ducky". Kate composed herself. At the front of the chapel, Tony sat down at the Steinway, facing the congregation across the broad expanse of polished wood. His face looked serious and worn, quite unlike his usual sunny self, even allowing for the fact of the funeral. Why hadn't she noticed before?

Because you don't look closely enough, Kate, whispered a little internal voice. You're so keen to make sure he's not putting something over on you that you don't see anything other than that surface act he's so damn good at putting on. Whatever it happens to be.

She pushed the thought to one side as the priest continued, "Janet's asked for a piece of music that was a special favourite of Peter's. They heard it together the night they met at a Kennedy Centre fundraiser".

In the front row, Sally Fielding nodded. She leaned back momentarily against her brother's supporting arm but straightened again quickly.

Tony took a deep breath and raised his hands to the keyboard. The first subdued notes of Wagner's beautiful Liebestod filtered through the chapel, rising and falling with a crystal purity made somehow more poignant by the sound of the gentle rain outside.

Kate stared as Tony, his face lit by the flickering candles at each end of the piano, drew from its depths the grief of a breaking heart. He kept his eyes on the keyboard, never looking beyond it at the watchers. The cadences rose and fell, circling from afar at first, drawing closer and closer to a building outpouring of emotion, speaking of love and loss and eternity in the great rhythms of the heart. Impossible to reconcile this man with the bouncy, brazen flirt she saw across the bullpen every day.

"Did you know about this, Jethro?" Ducky breathed. "That Anthony could …?"

"Can't say I did, Duck", Gibbs murmured back. Beside them, Abby sniffled quietly into a large black handkerchief.

The music flowed out beneath DiNozzo's fingers, its powerful crescendo of love and longing rising to the old rafters of the chapel. Kate felt her throat tighten and her eyes sting. Sally Fielding sat staring straight ahead, tears coursing unchecked down her cheeks. In time, the majestic conclusion subsided to a level plain of emotion recollected, drawing them with it from the contemplation of pain too great to bear.

The last lingering notes faded into silence. Nobody spoke or moved. Then Tony rose from the piano and fell in beside the coffin with five other men who joined him from different parts of the chapel.

"What the hell …?" Gibbs' voice was soft, but penetrating for all that. The organ began a rendition of "Amazing Grace" as the pall bearers lifted the coffin and started on their way to the doors of the chapel, the family and the Director falling in behind. "Did any of you know about this?" He hadn't known Tony knew Pete well enough to be included among the pall bearers.

"Ah … know about what, boss?" McGee was staring at Tony's retreating back.

"Kate?"

"Well, sure, Gibbs. Tony and Pete were friends. You didn't know?"

Gibbs scowled, and Kate felt sorry for Tony. Gibbs didn't like to be wrong-footed. Not knowing what was going on – and worse, being seen not to know – was bound to rile him. She filed out of the pew with her colleagues and fell in behind the procession.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

"Jethro. With me a moment". The mourners were beginning to drift away from the graveside as Director Morrow pulled Gibbs aside and nodded in the direction of a nearby clump of trees. Gibbs fell in beside him until they were far away enough not to be overheard.

The Director sighed as he looked back at the grave. "Second funeral in a month. Two good agents gone."

Gibbs nodded. Agent Gina Thomson had been shot six months earlier during a raid on a drug drop at Norfolk. She'd lingered in a coma until her family turned the respirator off a couple of weeks back.

They were both silent for a moment, Gibbs waiting for the Director to get to what was on his mind. Eventually Morrow shook off his sadness and turned to speak to him. "I'm pulling you off the Fielding case, Jethro".

"Sir?" Gibbs was taken aback. He and his team had been tracking the shooter hard, DiNozzo too, since he'd come back.

"I want you off the case. Stand down your team and return to regular duties."

Gibbs opened his mouth to argue. "Sir, I don't under…"

The Director looked at him in surprise. "Agent DiNozzo hasn't spoken to you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Sir, and I still don't understand".

The Director brushed at a piece of lint on his coat. "You don't need to understand, Special Agent Gibbs," he said, "but I'll tell you anyway, and I can tell you now, you won't like it".

Gibbs' brows drew down. "Like what, Sir?"

"Agent DiNozzo was not on vacation, and neither was Agent Fielding". The Director looked off over the soaked green lawns. The rain, which had trailed off for a while, was coming faster now; both men huddled deeper into their coats. "They'd been working undercover since the spring, reporting to me".

"Reporting to …?" Gibbs' forehead creased.

"To me, Jethro", the Director repeated, "and only to me. It was high level stuff, I needed control".

Gibbs said nothing for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was dangerously low. "My senior field agent was involved. What about the chain of command? Why the hell wasn't I told?"

"Need to know, Agent Gibbs. You didn't, and I couldn't risk you intervening with your man behind my back." He turned to face Gibbs, whose expression would have frightened horses and small children.

Gibbs made his face blank. "And now, Sir?"

"Fielding's death was no accident. We think Baker's men …"

"Baker? Baker was in town and you didn't think I needed to know?" Gibbs' voice rose.

Baker, a drug czar, supplied half of Washington and most of Norfolk. Gibbs had gone after him two years earlier when a young Marine had died of an overdose but he hadn't been able to touch him, thanks to Baker's connections in high places. His gut clenched, remembering.

"You were hellbent on the terrorist thing, too emotionally involved. It seemed best to keep you out of this one."

Gibbs shook his head. His face took on what Abby called his bulldog look. "You think I couldn't have …?"

"Think about it, Gibbs", the Director interrupted. Gibbs had spent every spare moment for months staring at the onscreen flickering patterns of the software trying to identify the man who'd shot him. "You're obsessed with Haswari, and obsession leads to mistakes. I couldn't risk that on this one. You were better off the case".

He's right, Gibbs thought sourly, but anger ate away at him. "And so you put my senior field agent into the field without …"

"Your senior field agent, yes, but in the end he reports to me". The Director pulled rank and dared Gibbs to challenge it.

"You of all people, Sir, should know it's not wise to keep a team leader in the dark. You remember what happened when …"

The Director cut him off short. "Water under the bridge, Gibbs, you should've moved on by now. You obeyed orders back then, that's all you needed to do". He glanced at his watch. "And that's exactly why I kept you out of this one".

The Director was referring to an incident early in Gibbs' NCIS career when he'd been ordered undercover and told to keep it from Mike, his boss. The op had gone disastrously wrong, leaving three dead, and only during the mop-up had Gibbs discovered that Mike had known something that could have made all the difference to the outcome.

He still lay awake some nights wondering how things might have turned out if he'd disobeyed the Director and brought Mike in on what was going on. Move on from that? Hell would freeze over first. He couldn't let it go.

Only the slight jump of a muscle beside his mouth gave away his tension now. "Dammit, Tom …" he began, then stopped. Morrow wasn't the kind of man you called by his given name in circumstances like these. Gibbs choked back his resentment and squared his shoulders. "I'd appreciate it, Sir, if you'd fill me in now".

The Director did. DiNozzo and Fielding had taken a couple of week's "vacation", in Tony's case to holiday with frat brothers and in Pete's to paint his house. Or so they'd let it be known. In reality, they'd been working for months to infiltrate Baker's supply network, Tony posing as a disenchanted former cop, Pete as a computer geek looking to make some easy money, and now they had the chance to be in on a big drop planned for the base.

The sting had seemed to be working. Until the day that Agent Simmonds, who'd known nothing of the operation, had bumped into Pete in the street, joked about his three-day beard and asked how his holiday was going. Pete had been with two of Baker's men. He'd passed it off as a case of mistaken identity, leaving a puzzled Simmonds staring after him, but the damage had been done. That night, as he walked along a dark street, he'd been shot and killed in a drive-by shooting. Not even Pete's family knew the truth.

Gibbs stood silently as the story unfolded. He looked over to where Tony, hair plastered to his head, stood in the rain with Pete's wife and her family.

"I pulled DiNozzo out straight off. This week's drop was cancelled, but they'll try again." Morrow lowered his voice further, not that anyone was near enough to hear them. "Simmonds doesn't know what happened, and he's not going to know. I assume you can manage that situation where DiNozzo's concerned?"

Gibbs nodded absently. "Why the hell didn't DiNozzo …"

"Tell you what happened? I don't know. Once the op was cancelled I gave him leave to". The Director stared at Gibbs. "Is there something amiss in your team, Agent Gibbs?"

"No, Sir, there is not". Gibbs stared right back and the Director, apparently satisfied, nodded.

"Good", he said, "then you don't have a problem with this". He looked at his watch again and, after a few more words, moved off in the direction of his waiting car.

Gibbs looked after him. "The hell I don't", he said softly. "The hell I don't have a problem with this!"

_Rule Seven: always be specific when you lie._ DiNozzo had learned that lesson well, Gibbs thought, remembering the hotel information, travel itinerary and friends' life stories Tony had laid out for anyone who'd listen.

He turned and watched as DiNozzo, with a final word to Pete's family, headed to the parking lot, located his car and drove off. Almost running to his own car, Gibbs ignored enquiring glances from the rest of the team, gunned the engine and peeled out of the parking lot after him.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

Tony let himself into his apartment and turned to snick the deadbolt home. Outside, the rain beat against the windows and a rising wind rattled the panes, matching his mood. Not ready to turn the lights on, he leaned his head against the door and expelled a long deep breath. He wished he hadn't stopped for a drink on the way home. One wasn't enough.

"Hard day, DiNozzo?" The sarcastic voice came from the gloom behind him.

Tony spun around and searched the shadows, his hand halfway to his Sig. "Boss! How did you …" Gibbs switched on a lamp beside the sofa where he was sitting, and Tony blinked in the sudden light. It was true, then, Gibbs did have keys to their apartments. Either that or he'd picked the lock.

"You don't want to know what I'm doing here?" Gibbs' voice was quiet, but his eyes were harder than flint. There was a kind of controlled stillness about him that made Tony uneasy.

He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm pretty sure I can guess. I saw you talking to the Director. But … not tonight, Boss", he said. "Just … not tonight, OK?"

"Not tonight, Dinozzo?" Gibbs stood up and came over to him. "When, then? When exactly were you planning to let me know my senior field agent's been playing away without my knowledge?"

"I couldn't tell you, Boss." The words jerked out of Tony. "Director's orders. I guess he told you, then?"

Gibbs ignored the question. "You're right, you couldn't tell me while you were in play. But once the op was canned - why not then?"

"Because by then, Pete was dead, and I …" Tony stopped.

He'd known Pete since they first started at NCIS. They'd played the club scene together until Pete got married a year ago; after that, Tony had been a frequent visitor at Pete's house. He and Sally got on well.

"I didn't want to talk about it. Sorry, Boss". Lamer than lame.

"So you let me keep thinking you'd been on leave? You didn't tell me why Fielding really died even though our team's been working the case?" Gibbs' tone was still deceptively calm.

"I said I was sorry, I'm not proud of it. I just … needed some time". It wasn't good enough, and he knew it.

Gibbs jerked his hand up and Tony only just stopped himself from flinching away, but the headslap never came. Gibbs was way too angry for headslaps. He grabbed Tony's arm instead.

"Get this straight, DiNozzo - you work for me! Of course you keep your mouth shut when you're told to, but once you can, you come to me. I don't care how much time you need!"

He was yelling now. Tony had never seen him so angry. Gibbs had a point, but his reaction seemed over the top.

"What's the matter with you, Gibbs? I would have told you tomorrow, once the …" _Once the funeral was over and Pete was really gone._

Gibbs shoved his face into Tony's. "Not good enough, DiNozzo, not nearly good enough".

Tony felt as if his head were coming apart. The pressure behind his eyes built to unbearable levels. He shoved Gibbs away.

"Are we done, Gibbs? Have you finished telling me what to do?"

"We're done when I say we're done, DiNozzo!" Gibbs snapped, but he was clearly taken aback. Tony had given him lip before, but not like this. "You listen to me …"

"No, Gibbs", Tony interrupted. "You listen to me for a change. You barge in here without an invitation, you tell me you own my life?" His voice rose further with each phrase. "What's the matter with you, Gibbs? I would've told you tomorrow. I know I screwed up, I should've done it right away, but I didn't. I've apologised. If that's not good enough for you, write me up".

The two men glared at each other. Then Tony lifted a weary hand and said, "Aah, the hell with it! Bust my ass to desk work, fire me, do whatever you like! I'm going for a run".

He headed for his bedroom and slammed the door. Thirty seconds later he was out again, wearing running gear. With a curt "lock the door on your way out" he was gone, leaving Gibbs listening to his footsteps on the stairs. The outer door to the building banged shut behind him, and the only sound left in the apartment was the rain beating on the roof.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Almost an hour later, Tony let himself back into his apartment, breathing hard. He was soaked to the skin but the run in the rain had helped. The tight knot of anger and grief had loosened a bit as his feet pounded the pavement and the cold but cleansing rain sluiced down over him. But now he needed warmth.

He headed for the shower and pulled up short as he saw Gibbs standing in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter drinking a beer. "You still here?"

No "Boss", Gibbs noted. DiNozzo was still mad. "Yeah, DiNozzo", he growled, "I'm still here. I told you we're not done yet, and I meant it".

Tony used his toes to nudge off the sodden runners that had left a trail of water across the polished wooden floor. "There's not much left to say, is there? And by the way, help yourself to a beer".

Gibbs ignored the sarcasm and looked him over. DiNozzo looked pretty much done in, but Gibbs wasn't about to leave just yet. Tony's abrupt departure hadn't done anything to lessen the anger eating away at his boss, though he wasn't prepared to examine its cause too closely.

"What more do you want me to say?" Tony threw down his keys in exasperation. "Can't it wait till tomorrow?"

"No, it can't. We're going to finish this now, not in front of a bullpen full of flapping ears. I want to know about the op".

"Dammit, Gibbs, you never give up, do you. I should have known better than to think you'd leave".

In the tense silence that followed, Tony's cell phone rang. Still scowling at Gibbs, he flipped it off the waistband of his running shorts and snapped his name into it. Gibbs could hear a woman's voice.

Tony's demeanour changed instantly. "Sally … When? Are you OK? Much damage to the house?" He fired off a series of questions, his face growing steadily grimmer as he listened to the answers. Then he snapped the phone shut.

"That was Sally Fielding", he told Gibbs. "She got home after the funeral and walked in on someone trashing the house. He tried to go for her too but her brother was with her, he scared him off. John's a Marine, a big guy," he added as he put the phone down on the benchtop.

"She OK?" Gibbs asked.

"She's with her parents. No damage done, but she's pretty shaken up".

"And the house?"

"Can be fixed". Tony sighed. "I don't like this, Gibbs", he said slowly, "it's not coincidence, can't be. It's payback. Killing Pete wasn't enough, they want her too. I've seen it before, in Baltimore, with the Baker ring – they got wind of an undercover cop once and took out his whole family. Good publicity, they called it".

Gibbs pulled out his own phone. "What's her parents' address?" Tony told him. A few minutes later, Sally's parents' home had been put under 24-hour guard.

Tony relaxed a bit. "Thanks, Boss".

"Has it occurred to you, DiNozzo, …"

The sudden shattering of glass interrupted Gibbs as a long rake of bullets blew in the windows fronting the street and pitted the walls of the living room. The two men dropped to the floor, guns drawn. Outside, a passing car revved its engine and took the corner with a screech of tyres. They heard the neighbours' shouts of alarm.

"That I'm next?" Tony finished from where he crouched. "Yeah, Boss, you could be right". He grimaced as he looked over the damage.

They stood up and began to pick their way through broken glass to the door, Tony hopping on bare feet. A siren wailed in the distance, growing closer until it stopped outside. Booted feet clattered up the stairs to the apartment and a loud voice shouted commands.

Tony swore as a long shard of glass fell from what remained of a street-side window, gashing his arm. He clapped his hand over the cut to staunch the welling blood.

"You OK?" Gibbs asked over the banging on the door. A man's voice shouted "Anyone inside?"

"I'm fine, Gibbs, just peachy". Tony kept the pressure on his arm as he walked carefully to the door and let in four wary LEOS. This day couldn't get much worse.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

Three hours later, Gibbs and Tony sat and surveyed the damage.

The local LEOs had disappeared soon after they arrived, once they'd made sure nobody was hurt. A short phone conversation with the Director had convinced them the matter was internal to NCIS and could be safely left to that agency to pursue.

A further short and remarkably sharp conversation between Gibbs and the Director had established that while Marchetti's team would run the crime scene, Gibbs himself would remain in charge of this part of the investigation

The on-call guy from Glass Is Us had fitted new window panes, excited to hear the old ones had been shot out. It made a change from baseballs. Once he'd left, Gibbs and Tony were finally alone again. They'd swept up the broken glass out of consideration for their feet, but the rest of the mess could wait.

Watching Marchetti's team go through the crime-scene routine had helped, but now the tension between them was back. Tony didn't know what to say next. He'd never got that shower, he was bone tired, and the cut on his arm throbbed, but he wanted to see for himself that Sally was safe. If only Gibbs would leave...

No such luck. Gibbs took out his phone and squinted at it.

"Who're you calling, Boss?"

"Ducky", Gibbs said. "Your arm needs looking at".

"My arm's fine, Gibbs, I don't need a doctor". Tony glanced down at the towel he'd wrapped around his arm. It was stained bright red.

"You need stitches".

"I said I don't need a doctor, it'll heal fine. Don't call Ducky". Tony jumped up and began to pick up stray bits of glass they'd missed.

"OK, then, the hospital". Gibbs flipped the phone shut and stood up. "I'm still your boss, DiNozzo, or have you forgotten?"

"Not the hospital either", Tony started, but a death stare silenced him. The two men locked eyes in a silent battle of wills.

Tony blinked first. "Have it your own way", he sat back down on the sofa with a thump, "Ducky, then".

Gibbs opened his phone again and pressed the speed dial for Ducky, glad he'd finally let McGee set it up for him. "Duck? I need you at DiNozzo's place, fast as you can, and bring your bag with you." He listened. "No, nothing too serious, just a few stitches". He flipped the phone shut on Ducky's questions.

Tony sat staring morosely at his feet while they waited the ten minutes it took Dr. Mallard to arrive. Gibbs, just as glad of the silence, moved around the apartment picking up missed fragments of glass. Ducky's knock came as a relief to them both. Gibbs went to open the door.

Ducky bustled in with his medical bag, raising his eyebrows at the bullet holes in the wall. He sat down beside Tony, who lifted a hand in greeting. "Hey, Duck".

"Let me look at that arm, Anthony", Duckty said, gently taking hold of it and laying it on his lap. With deft hands, he unwound the towel, careful not to bump the wound. Gibbs stood behind Tony and watched.

"Hmm, that's quite a cut you have there. Nothing a few stitches won't fix, though. And unless you've been keeping your windows squeaky clean lately", he smiled at Tony, "you'd best have a tetanus shot as well".

Tony mustered up as much of a fake scowl as he could manage, but the nervous energy that had kept him going over the last few days was fast draining away. He submitted in silence to Ducky's ministrations as the ME numbed his arm and began the stitches, chatting happily about weird and wonderful substances he'd had occasion to use as sutures over the years.

Ducky, for all that he appeared absorbed in his task, missed nothing. Not the quality of the silence between Tony and Gibbs, not the sheen of exhaustion on Tony's face or his stubborn determination to stay awake. He tied off the last of the stitches, applied a dressing and administered the shot. Then he rummaged in his bag.

"Jethro, would you get some water, please? Here, take this, Tony", he said, holding out a small white pill. "Just to stop any infection. Keep that bandage dry, I'll take another look at it tomorrow. And now", he patted Tony's knee, "I really think you should get some rest. You look done in".

Gibbs came back from the kitchen with a glass of water. Tony tossed off the pill and turned to Ducky. "Thanks, Duck", he said, "but I've still got stuff to do tonight …" He stopped as a huge yawn overtook him.

"Just lie down for a few minutes, then", Ducky said. "That won't hold you up for long".

Tony got up and stretched gingerly. "No, I should get going." Gibbs didn't need to ask where; Tony would want to check on Sally for himself.

Tony looked down at his running gear, stained now with the blood from his arm. "I'll just get changed and be out of here."

"DiNozzo …" Gibbs started, but Ducky stopped him with a look. They watched as Tony went into his bedroom. Water ran in the bathroom, a cupboard door opened, a drawer banged. They waited.

Gibbs cocked an eyebrow at Ducky. "What are you up to, Duck?" he asked softly.

"Just wait, Jethro", Ducky answered, equally softly, the hint of a grin quirking a corner of his mouth. "It won't be long now". He counted off a few minutes in which only silence came from the bedroom before he rose and said to Gibbs, "I do believe we should check on the patient now".

They went to the door of the bedroom and looked in. Tony lay sprawled on his back across the bed, deeply asleep, his clean socks still in his hand. He'd clearly sat down to put them on and passed out.

Gibbs looked at Ducky. "What did you do to him, Duck? That was no antibiotic".

"Oh, just making sure". A canny look flitted over the ME's face. "Well, I didn't exactly lie - he'll be less open to infection if he's asleep in his own bed, and he does very badly need it. Sleep, I mean".

"You devious bastard!" Gibbs gave a snort of amusement. "I suppose you know DiNozzo could sue you six ways from Saturday for that if he wanted to".

"Devious bastard? Coming from you, Jethro, that's high praise indeed". Ducky gave Gibbs an old-fashioned look. "And I'll take my chances with Anthony. Now help me make him comfortable, and then you can tell me what's going on".


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Ducky patted the sleeping Tony's shoulder and pulled the covers up around him. He and Gibbs moved back to the main room, leaving the bedroom door ajar. Gibbs detoured to Tony's bar cabinet, then sat down on the sofa.

"He's fine, Jethro", Ducky said. "Nothing a good sleep and a bit of time won't fix".

"Time, Duck?" Gibbs asked absently. He helped himself to some of Tony's Scotch and pushed the bottle towards Ducky.

"Yes, of course", Ducky answered, loosening his tie and looking around for a place to hang his jacket. He turned off the overhead light and switched on the table lamps before he sat down. "He and Peter were very close friends, you know. I'd be surprised if Anthony's slept at all since his murder, or eaten much either, by the look of him".

"No, I didn't know that". Not till today, anyway. Gibbs thought back. DiNozzo had looked tired, but Gibbs had put it down to holiday excesses. Tony never did know when enough was enough.

Ducky looked at Gibbs in surprise. "They've been friends since they first joined NCIS". He frowned. "Even I was aware of that."

Tony had come down to Autopsy to chat now and then when things were quiet. Ducky had heard about the squash games, the club crawls and the after-work drinks. Tony had even been asked to be part of Pete's wedding party, but in the end had had to miss it when a hot case came to a head that weekend. Pete and Sally had understood, of course, but Tony had felt bad about letting them down and had told Ducky so.

"Well, sure, Duck, I saw them chatting at the cooler now and then..."

Ducky regarded Gibbs sadly. "It was a lot more than that, Jethro. That's why this has hit Anthony so hard".

Gibbs was inwardly berating himself. He should have known Tony and Pete were close, but he'd never encouraged familiarity with his team. He'd made a point of ignoring DiNozzo's constant bragging about his conquests, and he'd frozen out his attempts to worm personal information out of his boss.

DiNozzo was a good agent. They worked together well, and that was all Gibbs cared about. It shouldn't have been necessary to know more than that.

Should it? He could see now he'd missed something important. His senior agent was grieving the loss of a friend, and Gibbs hadn't known. It didn't excuse DiNozzo's failure to report the op, but ... Had he let his obsession with Ari blind him to what was going on in his team? It wasn't a comfortable thought.

Ducky must have sensed something of what he was thinking. "What is it, Jethro? There's rather more to this than you've told me, isn't there," he probed.

Gibbs looked across to where his old friend eyed him over the rim of his glass as he tossed off another Scotch. Ducky had hollow legs when it came to alcohol, thanks to his Scottish upbringing, no doubt. The knot of tension and anger inside Gibbs began to loosen slightly with the comfort of the other man's presence.

"Aaah, hell, Duck …", he growled, rubbing his temples to ease a growing headache. He recounted his conversation with the Director.

"Oh, I see". Ducky took another sip of his drink. "You were kept in the dark. But Jethro, it really isn't fair to blame Anthony for it, he was only following orders. I'm sure he didn't like it any more than you do".

"It's not that", Gibbs snapped. "DiNozzo was right to keep his mouth shut. But it's three days now since the op was cancelled, he should have filled me in. Hell, my team's been working the case! He held out on me when he didn't have to, Ducky. Team members don't do that, not on my team, anyway".

Ducky set his glass down on the table. "So that's what's made you so angry. You're quite right, he should have told you".

Gibbs grunted and Ducky continued, "Couldn't you cut him a bit of slack, though, Jethro? He's just seen a good friend murdered, after all".

"I didn't know about that, and it doesn't make a difference". Gibbs reached for the bottle and poured himself another healthy slug.

He'd always had a problem with his temper. As a boy, it got him into more trouble than he cared to remember. His life in the Marines, under the discipline of following orders, had taught him control.

At NCIS, he'd learned when to use his temper to his advantage and when to let things go. Sometimes, though, as now, it threatened to take him down again.

Ducky wasn't finished. "That isn't all of it, though, I suspect. It's not like you to come down this hard on Tony, even if he's made a mistake. I've never seen you so wound up before".

Gibbs couldn't argue with that. He looked up from his glass at Ducky's kind old face. "If I tell you, I'll have to kill you". He gave a tired grin.

"And quite right too, Jethro", Ducky nodded. "On the other hand, should you feel the need to talk, I need hardly remind you that you may rely on my absolute discretion".

And so Gibbs told him, about his own past experience, about how he still wondered if he could have prevented the deaths of three fellow agents if only he'd told Mike what was going on.

When he stopped speaking, the only sound in the lamplit room was the rattle of the wind against the window panes. Then Ducky stirred.

"Ah", he said gently. "I didn't hear about any of that at the time. So that's what's really wrong. You've told Anthony he was right to follow the Director's orders, and of course, that's quite true. But underneath all that you think that if you'd known what was happening, you might have been able to prevent Agent Fielding's death?"

Gibbs tossed back his drink. "I told you it wasn't logical, Duck".

"It was an accident, Jethro, just one of those awful wrong-place-at-the wrong-time things. How could you possibly have prevented Agent Simmonds from recognising Peter in the street? Or the attempt on Tony's life tonight, for that matter?"

"I know, I know. I just …" Gibbs shrugged irritably. "It feels like I could have done something".

He was silent for a moment. Then his head shot up and he looked across at Ducky in disbelief, because his old friend had just said, "Jethro, I think you should tell  
Anthony what you've just told me".


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Gibbs fixed Ducky with the stare that made his team's knees tremble and could turn McGee into a stammering, inarticulate wreck in seconds. "What happened to absolute discretion, Duck?"

Ducky wasn't fazed. "I didn't say that I would tell him, I suggested you should. It might do you both good, you know. At the very least, you should apologize for your treatment of him earlier tonight, from what you've said".

He held up a hand to forestall Gibbs. "Yes, I know you always say it's a sign of weakness, but I can't believe you're really as rigid as you'd like us to think. On the other hand, though", he added thoughtfully, "you have been married three times".

"Ducky!" The edge to Gibbs' voice could have cut a diamond. Rising from the couch, he began to pace the room. He opened his mouth to start in, but Ducky cut him off, leaning back into the cushions and peering up at him.

"Afraid it would undermine your authority, Jethro? Spoil the Great Leader image?" He shook his head and reached for his glass. "I really fail to see how it would".

"You know I can't, Duck. It would … " Gibbs turned over in his mind what it might do. Coming back to his chair, he sat down and began to crack his knuckles, something he hadn't done for years.

"I know nothing of the sort", Ducky retorted. "What I do know is that Anthony would never take advantage of anything you might tell him in confidence. He's a decent man, Jethro, and a good agent, and right now he's hurting badly. Don't make it worse for him because it stirs up old memories for you. He deserves better than that".

Gibbs opened his mouth to bark a retort, but, "No!" Ducky held up a hand, "don't interrupt me. He'd scoff if I pointed it out, but Tony's a protector by nature. Like you, really. It's hit him hard that he couldn't keep Peter safe, and now he's got you on his back. What is it you think might happen if you opened up to him a bit? That he'd lose respect for you? He wouldn't, you know, he looks up to you far too much for that".

"Have you finished, Dr. Mallard?" Gibbs scowled at Ducky.

He'd always been one to bottle up his feelings. Talking about that earlier experience was not on his list of priorities.

And yet … he'd told Ducky. His flash of temper subsided as he thought about what his old friend had said and he picked up his glass and took a sip of Scotch, grateful for its spreading warmth.

Ducky's voice insinuated itself into the silence, silkily soft. "It all comes down, Jethro, to what kind of leader you want to be. You're a hard man. It's easy to stonewall, I saw it all too often during my own time with the military. I remember a British colonel who … but you don't want to hear about that now. All I'm saying is that sometimes real strength involves giving. It doesn't weaken a leader's authority, it strengthens it".

He thought for a moment. "It's like that boat you're always building. D'you think a hole would sink it, supposing you ever got it to float?" Ignoring Gibbs' snort, he went on, "No, you'd simply patch it up. I remember, when I was a boy in Scotland, we had a summer house on a loch …"

"Is this going anywhere, Ducky?" Gibbs interrupted, putting his glass down on the table none too gently and preparing to rise.

"Jethro! I do wish you'd let me finish a story for once, there's a good fellow. Besides, it's important. Do please get down off your high horse for a moment". Gibbs slumped back into his chair with an impatient exhalation.

"Yes, well, my brother and I had a canoe that we took out on the loch in fine weather". His eyes twinkled mischievously. "And sometimes not so fine weather too, if our parents were otherwise occupied. One day a storm blew up out of nowhere and we were forced to take shelter on a little island out in the middle of the loch, just a pile of rocks really. Our canoe was holed on the way in, but we got ourselves to the beach."

"The storm looked set to last for hours and neither Callum or I felt inclined to spend the night there. There wasn't any shelter, and our parents would have been worried sick – we'd sneaked out without telling them, you see. Besides, the wind was freezing. We looked around for something to mend the canoe, but there was nothing. In the end, we took Callum's boot and ripped out the seams with my pocket knife. That way, we thought, we could get home if one of us held the pieces over the hole".

Ducky smiled reminiscently. "He didn't want to, he loved those boots, they were his best old hiking boots and he'd worn them nearly through, but he gave them up in the end because he could see it was the only way to get back. Our hearts were in our mouths when we pushed off again, but in the end we made it back to shore and to safety".

A rueful grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "If you could call the reception we got from our parents 'safety', once their first relief was over. You'd never think it to look at her today, Jethro, but my mother was quite a terror in her time". He coughed. "Or perhaps you would. Anyway, the next day they had the canoe repaired and it was good as new for the rest of the summer".

"Very nice, Duck, and I'm glad you weren't both drowned. Now, if you've finished …"

"My point, Jethro, as I'm sure you can perfectly well see, is that something that's broken can be fixed. Boats can. People can, mostly. Trust can too. All it takes is willingness to give a little bit. In Callum's case, it was his boots. In yours …", he locked eyes with Gibbs, "well, only you can decide".

In the kitchen, the refrigerator motor kicked in, its quiet hum accentuating the silence. Then Ducky stood up.

"And now, be off with you, Jethro. I'll stay with Anthony tonight, Mother's away. If not, I'd have asked young McGee to stay with her". He winked at Gibbs. "I don't really think one could classify that as child abuse, could one?"

Gibbs stood too. He went to the door of Tony's bedroom and looked in. In the dim light from the living room lamps, he could just make out the dark head on the pillows.

Ducky came up beside him. "Think about what I've said", he said quietly. "Maybe you should trust him, it wouldn't be a bad move". He placed a gentle hand on Gibbs' arm. "Don't worry about him, he'll be fine in the morning. Physically, anyway. And remember - boats sail, Jethro, but not if they're full of holes".

"I'll leave him in your capable hands, then, Duck", Gibbs said, ignoring Ducky's last comment. He picked up his drink and tossed off what remained, then shrugged into his jacket. Ducky walked to the door with him. With a word of farewell to his friend, Gibbs headed out of the apartment and down to his waiting car.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

"Kate, you awake?"

"I am now, Gibbs", Kate yawned into her cell phone.

"Good", said the voice on the other end. "Squadroom, twenty minutes. Call McGee, I'll meet you there".

"What's going on, Gibbs? Gibbs!" But Kate was talking to herself. She put down her phone, swung her feet out of bed and was halfway to the bathroom before she remembered to call McGee. Behind McGee's drowsy voice Kate heard someone asking questions. Definitely female. She filed the information away to share with Tony even as she relayed Gibbs' message and disconnected.

Twenty-four minutes later she walked into the bullpen. McGee was already there, his tie askew and his hair still slightly mussed. Must have broken all records getting dressed, Kate thought. Not that she'd done much better; she straightened her scarf.

"Glad you could join us, Special Agent Todd", Gibbs sniped from behind his computer. He called them over and filled them in on the night's events.

"So where's Tony now, then?" Kate asked, but Gibbs ignored the question. "Is he OK?" she persisted.

"He's fine, Kate, nothing wrong with him but a cut on his arm. I want you two to find the shooter. Get me his name, address, record, and hell, his mother's maiden name while you're at it. I want him in here by morning".

Kate glanced at the clock. Two a.m. At Gibbs' look, McGee dived for his computer. Kate slid behind her own desk and picked up the phone. It was going to be a very long day.

Two hours later, they had their breakthrough. Kate had persuaded the local LEO who'd been first to respond to share his intel on likely suspects; McGee had tracked down the car on the basis of witness reports. The shooter was Danny Wilson, a onetime Marine kicked out of the corps for drug running who'd graduated to tougher stuff and was now Baker's primary enforcer. The Cleaner, he liked to call himself. He specialised in drivebys.

"Got him, Boss!" McGee relayed the details to Gibbs, putting up the address on the plasma screen. "The GPS chip in his cell says he's back at his place. Celebrating a good night's work, I guess, thinking Tony's dead".

"No", Gibbs said. "They'd know DiNozzo's not dead. They'd have had someone in the crowd to tell them no ambulance was called, no body taken out". McGee's face fell.

"Nice work, though!" Gibbs added. He took his Sig out of his desk and headed towards the elevator, Kate just behind him. "What are you waiting for, McGee?" he called over his shoulder. "With us, c'mon". McGee's grin lasted only a second as he scrabbled around in his desk for his own weapon and ran to catch up with the others.

By 5:30, Wilson, not noticeably one of the world's sharper thinkers, was in Interrogation Room 1, loudly insisting to anyone in earshot that he'd been home alone all night.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

Half an hour later, Tony threw his coat and backpack down beside his desk and slammed himself into his chair. McGee took one look at his face and busied himself at his computer.

"Sleep well?" Gibbs asked as he came around the corner, coffee in hand.

Tony shot him a sour look but said nothing. Gibbs balanced his coffee on a teetering pile of papers and sat down at his desk. Ignoring the others, he typed hard for a moment or two, then sat back and stared reflectively at his computer screen.

"Bad night?" Kate asked Tony from behind her desk.

"Why yes, Caitlin, you might say that", Tony half-snarled, biting off the consonants. "My apartment was trashed in a drive-by, I was drugged by a power-mad ME", _and reamed out by a stubborn, unreasonable git of a boss_, "I didn't get to check on Sally Fielding for myself … I've had better". He turned on his computer. "Where are we at?"

Kate told him.

Tony's eyebrows shot up. "He's here? Now?" He was out of his chair and halfway to Interrogation Room 1 before Gibbs caught up with him.

"Where do you think you're going, DiNozzo?"

"To see this Wilson, Boss". Tony barely slackened his stride.

"No, you're not, you're too personally involved. Stay out of it!" Gibbs grabbed Tony's arm, but Tony shook himself free.

"The hell with that, Gibbs, I want to see this dirtbag". More than likely he'd murdered Pete. Tony wanted justice.

Gibbs grabbed him again, this time hard enough to hold him. "I said no, DiNozzo. Marchetti's on it, leave it to him". They could see Marchetti further down the passage, opening the door to the interrogation room.

Tony would have pulled away from Gibbs again, but the sound of a shout followed by running feet distracted him. The door of the interrogation room slammed hard as Marchetti bolted out and threw open the door of the observation room next to it. Gil Yamada, Marchetti's senior agent, ran past them down the corridor.

Gibbs yanked Tony back as he started after him. "Stay here, I'll see what's happening. Don't even think about following me".

He headed off at a trot to where Marchetti and several others had run back into the interrogation room. The elevator pinged suddenly and disgorged Ducky, who headed down to join the crowd, bag in hand.

Tony stared after them for a moment, then slowly retraced his steps to the bullpen where Kate and McGee were on their feet, craning their necks over the partition for a look down the corridor.

Gibbs came back a few minutes later. "Wilson's dead".

"He's what?"

"He's dead, DiNozzo, you deaf? Marchetti left him alone in there and when he got back, he was dead. Stabbed".

"How could he be dead?" Kate said. "Who was in the observation room?"

"Apparently, no one. The recording equipment was giving trouble and Irwin had called in sick, so Marchetti went out to get someone, figured Wilson'd be OK on his own for a few minutes". Gibbs' tone told them what he thought of this.

"Gibbs!" McGee called, putting down his phone. "The Director wants to see you. Right away, he said".

"Stay here, DiNozzo, I want you here when I get back". Gibbs headed for the stairs and took them at a run.

"Like there's anywhere else I'd rather be", Tony muttered. He went back to his desk and sat down.

"That looks nasty". Kate came over to stand beside him. Tony looked down at his arm; the sleeve of his shirt was stained with blood.

"Damn! Must have popped the stitches when I picked up my backpack".

"Didn't you feel it happen?" Kate went to roll up the sleeve, but he batted her hand away impatiently.

"I had other things on my mind, Kate".

She looked at him curiously. "What's going on, Tony?" McGee pricked up his ears.

"Well, Katie, it seems someone popped the dirtbag", he began in a tone of exaggerated patience, but she cut him off with a frown.

"That's not what I meant and you know it. Why's Gibbs mad at you?"

Tony stiffened. "What makes you think he's mad at me?" he asked.

"Oh, come on, Tony!" Kate said. "I don't know what the Director said to him yesterday, but he took off after you with a face like thunder. Then he pulled McGee and me out of bed in the middle of the night, told us we're off the Fielding case and on your driveby, and now he's acting as if the world's ending and it's all your fault. What am I supposed to think?"

Tony sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Need to know, Kate", he said quietly. "Need to know. Sorry".

She stared at him, taken aback. "Are you … are you trying to tell me you've been undercover?"

"I'm not trying to tell you anything", Tony said. "Need to know means you don't. Tell people, I mean. And if I couldn't even tell Gibbs, I sure as hell couldn't have told you".

Comprehension dawned on Kate's face. Across the bullpen, McGee abandoned all pretence of not listening and sat forward in his chair.

"So that's what the Director told him yesterday", Kate said. "I knew it had something to do with you". She pulled up a chair beside Tony's desk. "What'd he say last night?"

"That he understood I was following orders. I don't think he meant it, though".

"You think?" Kate frowned. "That would explain the black cloud all morning".

"Yep", Tony nodded. "I get the feeling I'm way up that creek without a paddle. But you know what, Katie?" he squared his shoulders defiantly, "I really don't give a damn".

"Ah … Tony?" McGee broke in.

"Yeah, Probie, what is it?"

"Ah …" the tips of McGee's ears turned slightly pink, "I just wanted to say, if there's anything I can do to help, I mean if there's any information you need, I could …"

He stopped, embarrassed. Then he straightened his shoulders. "Just tell me what you want, and I'll get it for you".

"Like that time you tracked down Hot Juggs, you mean?"

"No, I meant …"

Tony look at him for a long moment and McGee squirmed, clearly anticipating a put-down. But Tony only said gently, "I know what you meant, Probie. Thanks for the offer, I'll let you know". McGee nodded and turned back to his keyboard.

Kate went back to her desk, and Tony pulled out a cold case file and pretended to concentrate on it. For half an hour or so there was silence in the bullpen, broken only by the occasional phone call as one of them followed up on a lead, or by the clatter of fingers on keyboards.

Then Gibbs came bounding down the stairs and stopped at Tony's desk. "Come on, DiNozzo, we're going downstairs".

"What for, Boss?" Tony looked up but didn't move.

"Baker called the Director, claims you murdered Wilson. The Director wants a DNA test". Gibbs paid no attention to Tony's stunned expression. "Come on, move!"

Tony jumped up and they headed out of the bullpen, leaving Kate and McGee gaping after them.


	10. Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

Gibbs pushed the elevator button and stopped them mid-floor. "Baker says you murdered Wilson as payback for Fielding. He's threatening to take you out for it".

For a moment, Tony said nothing. Then he threw back his head and laughed. "Dirtbags call the Director now to let him know they're going to kill me, because they think I killed their hitguy, who already tried to kill me? Right. So how did I …?"

"Where were you before you got to your desk this morning, DiNozzo?" Gibbs' tone was neutral, but the question hung heavy between them.

Tony gaped at him. "I was home, Gibbs, sleeping off Ducky's little white pill – thanks for that, by the way, I'm sure Sally really appreciated it - and then I was in the bullpen. I didn't go anywhere near the interrogation room. Hell, I didn't even know he was in there, or who he was, till Kate told me".

"Whoever killed Wilson was bleeding at the time". Gibbs glanced at Tony's arm. "Just like you. That's why the Director wants a DNA test".

Tony looked down at his arm, then back at Gibbs. "C'mon, Gibbs, you can't mean you think I …" The headslap caught him off guard.

"Yeah, DiNozzo, I know you knock off a dirtbag every morning before breakfast. You just don't usually bleed on them".

Tony looked abashed. "Sorry, Boss, for a minute I wasn't sure …" He wasn't sure of anything right now, not since Gibbs found out he'd been holding out on him. He kicked himself mentally - he should've known better than to think Gibbs wouldn't stand by him, no matter how angry with him he was.

"Your stitches break?" Gibbs' question was matter of fact. He pushed the elevator button and got them moving again.

"Yeah, when I picked up my backpack. Should have used the other arm".

The elevator door pinged as they arrived outside Forensics. They walked in and Gibbs told Abby what he needed. One look at Tony's face and Abby shut up and busied herself with the testing kit. The procedure was accomplished in silence. Once it was done, the two men headed back to the elevator.

The Director stepped inside as the doors began to slide shut. "DiNozzo, Gibbs", nodding at each in turn, "got that DNA swab yet?"

"All done and in the works, Director", Gibbs replied.

Tony spoke urgently to Morrow. "Sir, I didn't …"

"I know that, Agent DiNozzo".

"Then why …"

"Because if Baker thinks you're in our sights he could get careless. We might still get a shot at taking him down. That's why I'm suspending you until further notice". He cut off Tony's protest. "Get your things and go home. Stay out of sight".

"Permission to go with him, Sir?" Gibbs asked. "Keep an eye on him in case they try again?"

"Permission denied, Special Agent Gibbs, I need you here. DiNozzo knows how to look after himself".

The elevator stopped and the Director stepped out. Gibbs waited until he was sure he'd gone before delivering to Tony a terse, low-voiced instruction. "Go to ground, DiNozzo. My place. Don't let them catch you at home again".

Tony hesitated. Close proximity to Gibbs in his current mood wasn't something he looked forward to. But he nodded and swung out of the elevator. Stopping at his desk to pick up his backpack, carefully this time, he ignored the hail of questions from Kate and McGee and left the bullpen, heading for the carpark.

Gibbs and the others watched him go.


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Around nine that night, Gibbs locked his car and headed up the path to his house. Leaping up the three steps to the porch, he put out his hand to the never-locked front door but found it barred fast against him. Good. DiNozzo was taking thing seriously.

An eye scrutinised him through the peephole. A few seconds later the door opened and Gibbs slid in.

"Hey, Boss". Tony's smile was strained. "Long day at the office? I'd have had your slippers ready but … Ow!"

The joking sounded forced. He was clearly impatient to know how things had developed during the day, but first things first.

"Sitrep, DiNozzo", Gibbs ordered, shedding his coat.

"Nothing, Boss, all quiet". Tony had spent the day alternating between boredom and frustration. With only the small TV in the basement for company, his viewing options had been severely limited. "You ever think of getting cable? No", noting Gibbs' reflexive frown, "guess not".

"Good", Gibbs said, ignoring the question. "Let's hope it stays that way". He went through to the back door. "Perimeter check, all the same. Take the bedrooms".

_Like I haven't done that already five times today_, Tony's expression said, _last time thirty minutes ago,_ but he did as he was told.

Security confirmed, Gibbs turned his attention to the man beside him. Despite his casual banter, Tony looked drawn. He'd changed his shirt, but the sleeve of this one too was stained with blood. Gibbs gave himself a mental headslap. He should have thought to get Ducky to restitch Tony's arm before he'd sent him on his way this morning.

"Sit down", he said, doing so himself. The kitchen table was littered with a couple of pizza boxes and a takeout cup or two. "I see you've eaten. How long ago was that?"

"A while", Tony said. "You want some pizza? There's plenty left".

Gibbs flipped a cold slice up out of one of the boxes and jammed it into his mouth. He'd long ago stopped caring how things tasted, as long as they gave him fuel. He pushed the box towards Tony, who shook his head.

Not like him at all. Gibbs looked more closely. A sheen of sweat covered Tony's forehead; he looked a little warm.

"Let me look at your arm", Gibbs said, holding out his hand across the table.

"My arm's fine, Boss, nothing wrong with it, I changed the bandages a couple of times already".

"And yet it's still bleeding, DiNozzo. What does that tell you, d'you think? Give it here".

Tony hugged his arm protectively to his side, but when Gibbs jerked back his chair and stood, he thought better of it and held out the arm across the table.

Gibbs sat down again and unbuttoned Tony's cuff. He tried to push the sleeve back up the arm but it caught on the bandages. With a swift jerk of his hands he ripped it along the seam so that it hung in tatters around Tony's arm.

"Hey! Thanks, Boss, I didn't want that one anyway", Tony started, but a fit of shivering cut him short. Gibbs swore under his breath as he looked at the line of ripped stitches. The skin around them was an angry red.

"OK, DiNozzo, fix-it time. Looks like another house call for you", Gibbs said, and whipped out his phone. Speed-dialling Ducky, he outlined the situation.

Tony heard Ducky promise to be there as soon as he could. He stood up to put some coffee on but Gibbs waved him down again as he finished the call and cut the connection. While they waited, he ran through the day's events for Tony. They weren't much further forward.

An hour later, the arm was cleaned and restitched and Tony had been given a shot to stop the infection in its tracks. He'd made Ducky swear first that it wouldn't knock him out.

Ducky graciously accepted a bourbon from Gibbs, forbearing to remark on its inferiority to his beloved Scotch. He shuddered at the offer of old, cold pizza, though.

"I've called in a prescription, it'll be here soon. Make sure you follow the directions on the box, and don't stop before all the pills are gone", he ordered with a mock scowl at Tony. "I'll be back in the morning to check on your arm."

Diplomatically, Ducky didn't comment on Tony's presence in Gibbs' house, though the NCIS rumour mill must have gone into overdrive with Tony's suspension. He nodded in response to Gibbs' warning not to mention where Tony was. Then he drove off home.

"Bed for you", Gibbs said to Tony as they walked back into the kitchen. "I'll wait up for the drugstore guy".

"That's really not necessary, Boss, I can handle it myself".

"Do I look as though I care, DiNozzo? You need …"

Whatever it was he thought Tony needed was lost as the doorbell rang and a voice called "Drugstore".

Gibbs went through to the front door and checked through the peephole. A young man in a drugstore uniform stood outside, a delivery bag with Tony's meds slung around his neck.

The door was only just open when the boy's body jerked under the impact of a bullet. He pitched forward face down on to the porch and lay unmoving.

Gibbs slammed the door shut and threw himself sideways as it exploded in a shower of wood and glass.


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

Racing back into the kitchen, Gibbs grabbed the Sig he'd put on the benchtop when he got home.

From the corner of his eye he saw Tony, his own Sig in hand, duck his head around the kitchen door and get off four or five shots before return fire drove him back. Gibbs took up position on the other side of the door and got off a few rounds of his own.

They both heard the heavy thump as another body hit the floor. For a moment the firing stopped. Outside on the porch they could hear someone moaning. Gibbs hoped fervently it was the delivery boy, still alive.

He caught Tony's eye and jerked his head at the door to the back garden.

Too late. The back door burst open as a bullet shattered the lock. For a moment there was silence as it swung to and fro on its hinges.

Then a disembodied voice made itself heard. "It's over, Gibbs. Give DiNozzo up now, while you still have a chance".

Through the ringing in his ears, Gibbs wasn't sure if the shout came from the front or the back. On balance, he thought the back. The distant wail of sirens told him neighbours had already called 911.

"Come and get him!" he roared. The answer was another crashing fusillade of shots. The kitchen furniture disintegrated around him. _Too bad,_ he thought, _I never did like those fittings. _ He reached up and shot out the light.

Almost immediately, a powerful torchbeam spotlighted them, but no further shots were fired.

"Who the hell are you?" Gibbs yelled, hand in front of his face to block out the light.

"Oh, I think you know", came the mocking voice. The sirens grew louder. "Here's a tip, Gibbs – when you're out to hide someone, don't have your tame doc do a housecall. Now give us DiNozzo or you're both dead".

"_Come_ _and get him!"_ Gibbs yelled again, but beside him, a second voice drowned him out.

"OK!" Tony shouted. "I'm here! I'll come out now, but let Gibbs go!"

"DiNozzo, no! You hear me? No!"

Tony ignored Gibbs and threw down his weapon. It clattered across the kitchen floor to the door.

"And the other one, DiNozzo!" Tony felt for his ankle holster and freed his backup, which joined his Sig on the floor. "Yours too, Gibbs". Slowly, Gibbs did the same.

"Let Gibbs go!" Tony shouted again. "You've got me, I'm the one you want". He stepped out into the middle of the kitchen and started toward the door, his hands held high and clear of his body.

"Oh, I don't know, a two-for-one has its charms. I think ..."

The sound of sirens turning into the street cut off whatever it was their hidden assailant thought. Gibbs threw himself to the floor a second before a shotgun blast tore into the wall where he'd been standing. The last he saw of Tony as he fell was the butt of a gun crashing down on his head as he was manhandled out through the back door.

When his head cleared and his ears stopped ringing, the room was full of police, but Tony and his captors were gone. Gibbs broke all records hitting the speed dial on his phone.


	13. Chapter 13

Warning: this chapter describes a violent beating and cruelty.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A tap was dripping somewhere, its repetitive plink-plink-plink chiming in with the jackhammer in his skull. Tony groaned and stirred. His head hurt like hell.

Gradually, his senses returned and with them, the awareness of trouble. He lay still and kept his eyes closed, gathering what information he could.

Going by the chill seeping up from beneath him and the grit grinding into his cheek, he was lying face down on a cold concrete floor. The sound of the dripping water echoed, hinting at a cavernous space. Some sort of warehouse, then? Apart from the damn tap there was no sound in the room itself, though outside he could hear what sounded like small waves sloshing against a quay as a boat motored slowly by, its engine purring. The river, then? The bay? A seagull's cry confirmed his guess.

He could feel his left hand on the floor beside him, his right hand under his chest, his feet spread apart. No bonds, then, he wasn't restrained. Moving his right hand as slowly as he could, he felt unobtrusively for his cell phone. Gone. He'd known it would be.

No other sounds. He lay still a minute or two more, until he was reasonably sure he was alone.

Then, slowly, he opened his eyes and pushed himself painfully on to his side, feeling the stitches in his arm stretch and throb. The movement made him gag and he closed his eyes until the wave of nausea passed.

"He's awake". The toe of a boot caught him hard in the small of the back.

Tony gasped in shock and pain. He'd heard nothing, but someone had been behind him all the time, silently watching him stir. A second man moved into his line of sight and without warning delivered a kick to his stomach.

Tony threw up. A hand reached down and rubbed his face hard into the mess. Through the pounding in his head he heard someone laugh, "He looks better like that".

He raised his head a bit and squinted up at the men standing above him.

What he saw wasn't encouraging. One was huge, two hundred and fifty pounds at least, a pumped brute showing the telltale signs of steroid abuse. _The Hulk_, Tony christened him woozily, _but shouldn't he be green?_

The other man was smaller, blander. He looked like an accountant, but the air of quiet menace he radiated made Tony peg him at once as a greater threat than his partner. The first kick might have come from the Hulk, but he'd lay odds the Accountant was the one who'd pushed his face into the vomit till he thought he'd suffocate.

Time to assert himself. "When I get out of here?" Tony panted, meeting the Accountant's eyes, "you'll wish you hadn't done that". Not quite as convincing as James Bond, but he could work on it. He hoped.

The Accountant flattened his thin lips in what probably passed with him for a smile and motioned to the other man. The Hulk moved closer and drew back his foot.

"This is for Wilson", a kick to the ribs, "and this, and this, and this". He moved round behind Tony. "Baker … sends … his … love!" With each word he planted a kick somewhere along Tony's back. _Like a pile driver with a mean streak_, Tony thought, and passed out.

The cold shock of a bucket of water brought him back to his senses.

"Nothing to say?" Reaching down, the Accountant pulled Tony's head up by the hair. "You really should have thought twice before you took out Wilson. Baker liked his work". He banged Tony's head down hard against the concrete.

The Hulk must have been feeling left out. Spotting the blood on Tony's sleeve, he reached down to rip it away from the now well and truly bleeding stitches. "Hey, lookit!" he jeered, "An owie!"

Seconds later his full weight, centred on one huge shoe, descended on Tony's arm. Wiggling his foot around, he ground it into the stitches, laughing at Tony's howls of pain.

"Whassamadda, pretty boy? It hurts? How 'bout I break your arm, give ya somethin' real bad to cry about?"

Tony felt the man shift his weight, preparing to stamp down again, hard. With a massive effort of concentration through the jangling agony in his body, he rolled to one side and kicked up as hard as he could.

The Hulk screamed and doubled over, hands clapped to his groin. Losing his balance, he crashed on to the concrete floor and lay unmoving, knocked out by his own momentum.

The dry sound of clapping drew Tony's attention. The Accountant was regarding him with amused condescension.

"Well done, Agent DiNozzo. Not many men can take down Lucas without laying a finger on him. Now, speaking of fingers …"

He bent down beside Tony, picked up his left hand, and broke the little finger.

Ncisncisncis

Tony came to unwillingly, wanting only to sink back into the comforting darkness. No way of knowing how long he'd been passed out. Pain stabbed him in places he didn't remember being kicked - The Hulk, he guessed, getting revenge while he lay unconscious. His left hand throbbed unbearably.

He felt cold and his teeth chattered from shock. Sleep, if only he could lie there and sleep … Then his training took over. He lay still until his head steadied, breathing deeply, all his senses alert for danger. Nothing. No sound of anyone else at all, but then there hadn't been last time either.

Had they left him for dead?

No, they'd have made sure of it. Baker didn't like loose ends.

Five endless minutes later, he slitted open swollen eyes and took inventory. Nobody. Just himself, lying on his back in a pool of blood and vomit on the floor. He let his head fall back and curled into the foetal position, wrapping himself around the worst of the pain and trying to ignore the insistent stabs up and down his back.

A nagging thirst drove him to move again. He raised his head and looked around the empty warehouse. No windows, only one door, bolted tight shut. Nothing inside but himself. And the tap – the dripping tap that had been the first sound he'd heard. So annoying then, the sound of heaven now.

The red eyes of two surveillance cameras stared at him from opposite corners of the room. That was why they'd left him, then. No need for guards when the camera saw everything.

He rolled himself up on to his knees, the combined effects of the movement and the pain in his hand and body making him retch and sink back on to his heels. Something was badly wrong with his ribs, and his stomach hurt a lot. When the red haze dissipated a little, he checked himself over for something to use as a weapon.

His ankle backup was gone, but he'd known that. So was his belt, with the knife hidden inside. They'd been thorough. His clothes were torn and stiff with blood here and there, where the Hulk's steel-capped boot had done its best work.

Water. He had to have water.

Standing up was out of the question. With an effort, he pulled himself back up on his knees and began to shuffle in the direction of the tap, sucking in his breath with the pain as he inched forward over the concrete. His ears strained for any sound of his captors coming back.

Halfway there. A fat drip of water hung from the tap, waiting to fall. He'd never wanted anything so badly, not even the boxed set of ….

Something clattered to the floor and Tony jumped. His cell phone. He stared at it, uncomprehending. It hadn't been on him the first time he woke up, he was sure, but here it was. How could they possibly have missed it?

Maybe they hadn't. Maybe they'd wanted him to find it.

Why, though?

He'd think about it in a minute. Water first. Wincing as his ribs grated in protest, he reached down to scoop up the phone with his undamaged hand and went back to inching painfully towards the tap.

Still no sound of anyone coming. They had to be able to see him on the screens.

By the time he reached the tap he was drenched with sweat. Manoeuvring himself around with his back against the wall, he lowered himself into a sitting position, resisting the impulse to lie down and whimper. He let the phone fall and turned on the tap.

No coffee with hazelnut sweetener had ever tasted so good.

A couple of ambrosial gulps later, Tony leaned back and considered the phone beside him on the floor.

Sixteen missed calls. Gibbs.

It had to be a trick. Had to be. Why would they leave him his phone when they'd searched him closely enough to find the knife in his belt?

Or had they given it back to him while he was out to it? But that made no sense.

He'd figure it out later. For now, he'd take the breaks. He hunched himself as best he could away from the cameras. His finger hovered over the phone.

What if it was a trap to lead the others here? What if he led them into danger? But he could warn them on the phone, that couldn't be it. His head swam with the effort of thinking.

Maybe they'd only looked for weapons. Maybe they really had missed it, and so had he. Maybe …

He felt himself teetering on the edge of blacking out.

His finger found the speed dial and pressed 1.


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Gibbs reached for his phone and almost dropped it as he looked at the incoming call display.

DiNozzo! Or someone using his phone.

He punched the "accept" button with one hand and motioned at McGee with the other, mouthing the word "DiNozzo". McGee headed back to his computer at a run and began typing furiously, trying for a fix on the GPS chip in Tony's phone.

"Tony? Tony!" Gibbs keyed his phone on to speaker and slammed it into a docking station on his desk, motioning to Kate to record the call. "DiNozzo, is that you? Where are you, Tony?"

"Warehouse, Boss. Near water …"

Gibbs only just recognised the voice. He could hear Tony breathing. Ragged, painful breathing, then other, uglier sounds as, in the warehouse, the phone was ripped from Tony's hand.

Gibbs' phone went dead as someone cut the connection. "DiNozzo! Tony! Hey!" No answer. "Hang on, Tony!" But he knew nobody could hear him.

He stared at the phone for a second, then picked it up and shoved it into his pocket so hard that Kate saw the seam rip.

"Anything, McGee?"

"Nothing, Boss", McGee said. "They've disabled the chip".

Gibbs swore, then swung round to Kate. "He said a warehouse, somewhere near water. Get the tape to Abby, full acoustical analysis, see what she can pull off it". Kate left the bullpen at a run.

"Did he say anything else, Boss?" McGee asked.

"Only that", Gibbs snapped as he pulled his Sig from his desk drawer. Tony hadn't had a chance to say more. The phone had gone dead not long after those few words, but not before Gibbs had heard shouts, blows and then the unmistakable sound of someone screaming in pain.

But he'd heard no shot. He held that thought as they headed to the elevator.

NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS

Down in the lab, Abby turned off her CD player and worked at frenetic speed to isolate the sounds on the tape. Tony's few words were laboured but he sounded in command of himself.

At least until the beating started.

"What's that?" Kate asked. "Sounds like a door clanging open".

"It is", Abby nodded. "Something heavy, by the sound of it. Steel, most likely".

They heard the sound of blows and yells of pain. "Oh, Abby". Kate's voice shook as the two women stared at each other in distress. Then Abby turned back to the tape.

"Did you hear that?" She bounced up on her toes in excitement.

"What?" Kate frowned and strained her ears. Abby fiddled with her keyboard and the on-screen frequencies changed.

"That … that horn? At least, I think it's a horn, though it could be …"

"Can you bring it out a bit more?" Kate interrupted.

"Bring what out?" Gibbs strode into the lab, McGee close behind him.

"There's something on the tape, in the background, and I think it might be … yes, it is", Abby's fingers pounded the keyboard, "a horn of some kind. Listen, it's pretty distinctive". She isolated the sound and played it again.

"Yep, it's a horn all right. Sounds like a ship, a big one. Good work, Abs". Gibbs dropped a distracted kiss on Abby's cheek. "But what the hell does it tell us?"

They listened again. Then McGee, who'd visibly paled at the sound of Tony's pain, turned on his heel and left the room at a run, shouting back over his shoulder, "The shipping registers, Boss. I'll run a check, we could get something that way".

Gibbs went after him. Kate dropped a kiss on Abby's other cheek and headed off too, leaving Abby to listen disconsolately over and over again to the sound of the horn.

NCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCISNCIS

Back at his desk, McGee typed manically, absorbed in his task. Then his shoulders slumped and he sat back.

"Nothing?" Gibbs asked. Kate came round behind McGee to look over his shoulder.

"Nothing with a horn that deep, not that close in to the coast. A few yesterday, but not today".

"Damn!" Gibbs rubbed his stomach, his gut clenched tight.

"But boss, I've got an idea", McGee straightened, his face brightening.

"Spit it out, McGee, you want an invitation?"

"No, Sir, I mean Gibbs. What I was thinking was", he flinched as Gibbs pushed his face close to his, "um, what I was thinking was, I could call the coastguard, play them the tape, see if they know what it is. The horn, I mean".

"Damn good idea, McGee, do it". Gibbs dropped a hand on to McGee's shoulder, then headed out of the bullpen and up the stairs to brief the Director on  
Tony's call.

With a quick word to McGee, Kate left the bullpen at a run and was back soon after, a copy of the enhanced tape in the player in her hand. McGee picked up the phone as she put it down on his desk.

Five minutes later, they had their answer. An interested coast guard lieutenant had recognised the sound as coming from a disused lighthouse on the bay. Once the horn had warned ships of rocks, now it was sounded for groups of kids on school trips to the lighthouse. She gave McGee the address as Gibbs came down the stairs from MTAC.

"That's good work, McGee. Kate, get the truck". Gibbs shoved his Sig into his belt as he left the bullpen at a run, phone in hand updating the Director. "Marchetti's team will come as backup", he relayed, snapping the phone shut at the elevator doors.

The doors slid open to reveal Ducky. "Jethro", he started, "any news?"

Gibbs pushed into the elevator beside the ME and hastily filled him in.

"You're not going without me, then", Ducky said forcefully. "Anthony will need medical attention, from the sound of it. I'll get my bag". He pushed the "down" button.

Gibbs nodded. Pushing out of the elevator, he motioned the others to take the stairs with him. "Meet us upstairs, Duck, quick as you can". Leaving the elevator to Ducky, they ran up the stairs to the garage.

A few minutes later the truck screeched out on to the street, Gibbs at the wheel with Ducky and Kate beside him, McGee on his laptop in the back searching for warehouses near the lighthouse. He found only one.


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Gibbs nosed the truck to a halt in the cover of a stand of trees. A little way ahead lay the warehouse, hidden from them by a bend in the road. Across the bay, they could see the old lighthouse on its promontory. With a murmured word to Ducky, the other three eased out of the truck and headed cautiously off down the road. Ducky watched them go, biding his time until he was needed.

From behind a tree just around the bend, Gibbs took stock of the solid, free-standing building not far in front of him. At his signal, Marchetti and his team ran silently past him to fan out around its perimeter. No windows that Gibbs could see, and a hissed transmission from Gil Yamada told him the doors of the old loading bay out back were welded shut and boarded up.

That left the door in front of them, and the van parked outside it, nose in. For surveillance, Gibbs guessed, going by the blacked out windows. Over the com, he heard Marchetti order his team back to the front of the warehouse. He nodded to McGee to join them as they fell back to cover the front door.

Careful to stay out of range of the van's side mirrors, Gibbs sprinted noiselessly towards it, motioning Kate to follow. Guns drawn, they took up position on either side of the van's back doors and, at Gibbs' signal, flung them open.

For a moment Gibbs thought it was empty. Then he made out the massive figure slumped in a chair fronting a console of screens. Asleep, but beginning to stir. Gibbs saw Kate's shoulders slump with the anticlimax even as he brought his gun down hard on the back of the man's neck.

Between them they dragged their dead-weight prisoner out of the van and signalled Marchetti's men to haul him off to the backup truck out of sight around the bend.

Gibbs didn't stop to watch. He leaped back into the van and scanned the screens, Kate beside him. They showed the interior of the warehouse, cavernous but empty. No sign of DiNozzo. Nothing except a dark stain on the floor which Gibbs took in without expression.

"Gibbs!" Gibbs heard the footsteps in the same instant as Kate's whisper. Someone was approaching from around the side of the warehouse, whistling as he came. Silently they flung themselves out of the van and flattened themselves against the wall. Just as noiselessly, McGee raced out of cover nearby to join them.

The man who came around the corner was smiling, jaunty, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. His shoes were wet and splotches of water darkened his suit here and there. He was on his way to the van when Gibbs' arm went round his neck, choking him off mid-whistle. Instinctively, he ducked and stamped his foot down hard, but Gibbs was ready for him and brought his own knee up hard.

"Frisk him, Kate". Kate came around the other side of the van, gun levelled, and patted the prisoner down. Her search yielded a Glock, a wicked-looking knife and two cell phones. One of them was Tony's.

"Where is he?" Gibbs tightened his arm round the Accountant's neck.

Nothing but a mocking smile for answer. Gibbs swung the man around and slammed his back up against the wall.

"I said, where is he?"

Again a triumphant sneer, goading Gibbs beyond measure. He swung his forearm across the Accountant's neck and began to press it slowly against his windpipe, gradually cutting off his air.

The Accountant's eyes, mocking still, locked with Gibbs' own. He tried to bring his knee up, but Gibbs was ahead of him, blocking the move with his own knee and pinning the man harder against the wall with his body.

Gibbs increased the pressure. Still no response.

The seconds ticked by. Kate and McGee stood ready nearby, staring in appalled fascination.

Then something deep in the other man's eyes changed as the pressure took its toll. He made a desperate signal with his hand and Gibbs drew back a bit, letting him drag in some air.

"I won't ask you again. Where is he?"

A gasping laugh. "Having a fish dinner. Or maybe that should be the other way around".

Instantly the pressure resumed, until at last the Accountant gave in."Around the back", he wheezed.

"You'll have to do better than that, scumbag. We've had men round there already, if he was there they'd have seen him".

"Down the steps, under the pier. We were both there when your men arrived. You really need to train them better".

With a shout to the backup team, who rushed to cuff the prisoner, Gibbs shoved the Accountant sprawling hard in the dirt and took off around the warehouse, Kate and McGee at his heels. Breaking out on to the quay at the rear, they scanned frantically for the steps.

"There!" Kate shouted, pointing to her right. A flight of steep wooden steps ran down to what looked like a mooring under the pier jutting out from the quay. Gibbs took them at a run, the others at his heels.

For a moment they saw nothing in the gloom under the pier. Then, "Got him!" McGee yelled.

Against the piling closest to the steps stood Tony, held upright by multiple coils of chain the length of his body, blindfolded and gagged, the rising water almost at his mouth.


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Gibbs reached him first. Ignoring the icy water that soaked him to the waist, he knelt on a step beside Tony, tore off the blindfold and the gag and scanned his agent.

"Tony!"

Dinozzo's eyes were open but unfocused.

"Tony!" Gibbs tapped Tony's cheek. No answer. He tapped again, the back of Tony's head this time, and was rewarded by a flicker of recognition. The flicker grew stronger as he watched.

"Boss, the tide!" McGee's voice cut through Gibbs' concentration and he raised his head. The tide was coming in fast, rippling against the pylons, gently jiggling little pieces of floating debris as it rose.

Gibbs swung back to look at DiNozzo and swore as he saw what kept him upright. The chains held Tony fast, encasing him from neck to ankles right down the length of his body. He hadn't been meant to escape.

"Get the …." McGee and Kate hadn't waited to be told. They took off at a run around the warehouse, heading for the truck and the bolt cutters.

It was too late for bolt cutters, though, and Gibbs knew it. The chains were tight, cutting off DiNozzo's circulation, and there were too many of them. No way they could get him free before the water rose too high.

He had to buy him time. He looked around for something, anything to use as a breathing aid. Nothing, not even a bit of old pipe.

"Tony!" Gibbs gripped Dinozzo's shoulders. Tony was fully conscious now. He was breathing heavily and his eyes registered his terror, but he kept his voice level as he tilted his head back as far as the pylon would let him.

"Hey, Boss". Water ran into his mouth, making him cough.

"Listen to me, Tony", Gibbs tightened his grip. "Just listen to me. You have to trust me, OK?"

Tony's eyes became desperate as the ripples from a passing speedboat reached him, pushing the water momentarily above his nose, but he nodded. "Always, Boss".

"The bolt cutters are on their way, you'll be out of here soon". They both knew they'd be too late. "You keep your cool, you hear me?"

Tony strained to push his chin above the water level again. "We … DiNozzos … are noted for … our cool". Then the effort grew too much and his mouth slipped back under the water.

Gibbs barked a semblance of a laugh and ruffled Tony's hair. "It'll only be a few minutes. Stay calm. Breathe when I breathe …Tony! TONY!" Tony's eyes had closed momentarily. Gibbs pulled his chin up as high as he could, despite the pain he could see it caused.

Then Tony's eyes were looking into his again. Gibbs rapped out the last of his message with a confidence he didn't feel. "You breathe in when I breathe out. Don't open your mouth till you feel mine over it, got that?"

Tony nodded. "Got it". Gibbs saw him struggling to push down the panic.

"Stay still. Conserve your air". He pulled Tony's chin up one last time to let him suck in a huge gulping breath.

Gibbs felt the steps creak as someone descended and settled into place on the other side of Tony. Ducky. The doctor made a cheerful remark to Tony, but the eyes that met Gibbs' own over DiNozzo's head were grave. He cupped the back of Tony's head with one hand, reaching down beneath the water with the other to take hold of Tony's arm.

And then the water rose over Tony's nose and their time had run out.

Gibbs raised his head. "Where the hell is McGee?!"

Ducky shook his head and tightened his grasp on Tony's arm, the thumb of his other hand gently stroking his head. "They'll be here, Jethro. Just hang on".

Gibbs looked down at Tony. His head was almost fully submerged now. The bubbles from his nostrils trailed off and then stopped. His eyes found Gibbs' own, and Gibbs could hardly stand to look at what he saw there.

He took his hand off Tony's shoulder and clamped his nostrils shut. Sucking in as much air as his lungs could hold, he thrust his face beneath the water and clamped his mouth over Tony's. He felt the mouth beneath his own open, and he exhaled as slowly as he could, feeling DiNozzo suck in the air.

His lungs empty, Gibbs threw up his head up and filled his lungs again. He stared down through the water, seeking a reassuring trail of bubbles from Tony's nostrils. They were there.

Behind him he heard the blessed sound of the truck slewing to a stop on the quay above them as Kate jammed on the brakes. McGee tumbled from the back doors, bolt cutters in hand, and skidded down the steps. He hurled himself into the icy water, feet scrabbling for purchase on the submerged wood, and began to work at the chains, coming up for air now and then.

At the top of the steps, Kate grabbed her cell phone and punched in 911. She watched in horror, one hand to her mouth, as blood clouded the water. The chains were viciously tight, McGee had no time to be careful.

Marchetti skidded to a stop beside her and they stood silent, watching the drama below, knowing they could do nothing to help.

To Gibbs every second seemed a lifetime. Below them, the chains began to fall free.

So close. So nearly there. Gibbs' hand tightened on Tony's shoulder again – _trust me, DiNozzo, hang in there, just trust me. _Then he clamped Tony's nostrils shut once more. Another straining gulp, another transfer of air, another welcome trail of bubbles.

And then McGee's head broke the water and he was shouting and giving a thumbs-up, and Kate was dancing around the top of the steps, tears streaming down her face, as the last of the chains gave way and Tony sagged free. Ducky and Gibbs grabbed him as his knees buckled and pulled his head above the water. Tony took in a great whooshing lungful of air as he hung suspended between the two of them.

"You OK, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked urgently, scanning Tony's face.

"Does this … mean … we have to get married now, Boss?"

Gibbs laughed. "The divorce is on me if we do!"

Tony grinned. Then his feet touched the steps and he winced as the circulation returned.

Gibbs grabbed Tony's arm and slung it around his neck, wincing inwardly at the pain he saw it caused. With Ducky's hand in the small of Tony's back gently propelling from behind, together they supported him up the steps to the quay.

McGee dripped up the steps behind them with the bolt cutters. Marchetti ran to the truck and grabbed blankets, draping one around Tony, another around McGee.

Once clear of the water's support, the extent of Tony's injuries became alarmingly clear. He sagged against Gibbs, who lowered him carefully to the ground, where Ducky busied himself unbuttoning the wet shirt and taking stock.

DiNozzo had been worked over by a professional. Gibbs' mouth hardened as he took in the bruises and cuts. The bone in the little finger of Tony's left hand jutted out at a sickening angle.

"Where the hell's that ambulance?" Gibbs shouted.

"It's coming, Gibbs", Kate reassured him, holding out blankets to him and to Ducky, and indeed it was, its distant siren growing louder as they spoke.

Tony shifted under Ducky's gently probing fingers. "I'm OK, Duck", he protested weakly, as Kate knelt on his other side and took his good hand in hers.

"I'll be the judge of that". Ducky finished his cursory examination, tucked the blanket around Tony, and picked up his left hand. "Let me see that finger".

With not much more than a hiss of breath between clenched teeth, Tony's eyes rolled back in their sockets and Kate felt his grip on her hand go limp.


	17. Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The doctors had gone, except for Ducky, who sat quietly on one side of the hospital bed where Tony lay sleeping, his ribs bandaged and an IV in his arm. Gibbs sat on the other, only an occasional restless jiggling of his knee betraying how much he hated hospitals. A cold container of coffee, half drained, sat on the floor beside his chair.

Ducky had turned on his charm and wangled a short visit for Kate, McGee and Abby, who'd been allowed in for a few minutes to satisfy themselves Tony was in good hands. It was the only way to stop them hanging round in the waiting room all night.

Tony had been awake then. His smile – not quite his usual confident grin, but he'd tried hard - had reassured them, and they'd left, each on a mission to find something they thought he'd like. The last thing Gibbs heard as the three of them walked away down the hall was Abby gabbling about monster truck DVDs.

That had been a couple of hours ago, and Tony had sunk into exhausted sleep as soon as his team mates had gone. Gibbs and Ducky settled in beside the bed to keep vigil.

The medical report was better than expected – the suspected internal bleeding from one of the savage kicks to Tony's stomach hadn't eventuated. The stitches on his arm had been redone, his body was massively bruised, four ribs were broken and his finger was in plaster, but you could say he'd been lucky.

"Go home, Agent Gibbs. You too, Dr Mallard", the doctor had said, "there's nothing more you can do for him, what he needs now is rest. You can safely leave him to us".

"We appreciate that, Dr Cross", Ducky said. He glanced across at Gibbs. They were the ones who'd looked down into Tony's eyes as the water closed over his head. "But with your permission …" They'd sat themselves down on either side of the bed.

"You expect nightmares, Jethro?" Ducky asked now, as the lights in the room were dimmed from the nurse's station. Tony slept unmoving, the abrasions on his face only faintly visible in the dim light filtering in through the slats of the blind.

"Hell, yes, Duck, don't you?" Gibbs shifted on the narrow chair, his muscles protesting after the strains of the day.

"I'd be surprised if there weren't". Ducky leaned forward and studied Tony's face.

Tony was a strong man, they knew that, and he'd made some weak joke about fish going hungry as he was loaded into the ambulance, but they'd seen how much it cost him. Gibbs had seen it before in Desert Storm, the graveyard humour under fire, then the screaming nightmares once the bullets stopped.

"You ever been beaten up, Duck? I mean really worked over, like that?" Gibbs asked, jerking his chin in the direction of the bed.

"I'm happy to say I haven't, Jethro, but I've seen the results often enough. Why do you ask?"

"It can change a person", Gibbs said. "I saw a good agent lost because of it once. It sort of knocked the confidence out of him, he felt … anyway, he didn't stay long once he was back on his feet again".

"Ah", Ducky nodded, "and you fear this for Anthony?"

Gibbs shrugged. "I guess we'll find out". They looked at the battered face on the pillow.

Ducky leaned forward. "He's young, Jethro, and fit, and you know better than anyone how strong and resilient he is, underneath all that … Tony-ness, for want of a better word".

Tony stirred and muttered something. His forehead creased as various aches and pains made themselves felt. For a moment the others thought he'd sink back into sleep, but then he opened his eyes. They saw him assess the room in a single glance before his eyes settled on Gibbs.

"Hey, Boss". The smile was faint, but definitely there. "Ducky". He turned his head to look at the doctor.

"Lie still, Anthony", Ducky said, then clicked his tongue impatiently - Tony was already trying to push himself higher in the bed, and failing. He groped with his hand for the bed control.

"Got it", Gibbs said, and pushed the button. The top section of the bed rose to where Tony could look at them more comfortably.

Nobody said anything for a minute. Then Tony asked, "How'd you find me, Boss?"

Gibbs filled him in on McGee's detective work. Tony nodded. "The Probie - I should have known. Remind me I owe him a new … you know … whatever makes him happy".

"What happened after you left my place?" Gibbs asked, and Tony told him about the trip to the warehouse and something of what had happened inside. By the set of his mouth Gibbs guessed there was more to that part of the story than he was willing to say. The tapes in the van would give them the details, though, and Gibbs badly wanted the details before he confronted Baker's men in interrogation.

Tony coughed, then winced at the pain in his ribs. Ducky offered the glass of water on the bedside table and he took a grateful sip.

"Never thought I'd be glad to see water again", Tony said as he settled back on the pillows. He looked at Gibbs. "They left me the cell phone on purpose, Boss".

"Ya think, DiNozzo?" Gibbs was way ahead of him. Having him hear the beating they'd given Tony had been part of the plan too, he thought. Tony had probably figured that out for himself.

"They told me. They wanted you to find me. By the time you got there, I'd be dead, in a way meant to make people think twice about tangling with Baker". He shivered. "They were out and out psychos".

"I know", Gibbs said.

"You do?"

"The water was up past your chin when we found you, but their clothes weren't wet. That means they chained you up when the tide was low and left you there to wait, knowing what was going to happen".

Tony closed his eyes. "They didn't leave me there alone. There was pretty much always one of them with me".

"Doing what?" Ducky asked quietly.

Tony swallowed convulsively and licked suddenly dry lips. "Telling me about it. What it was going to be like when the water rose up, how Wilson would have loved to see it …"

The Accountant had been the worst. He'd looked into Tony's eyes as the water rose to his chin and smiled. He'd jammed his hand over the gag to keep Tony quiet till Marchetti's men had finished scoping out the quay above them. When they'd gone, he'd tied on the blindfold. People who screwed with Baker drowned like blind trapped rats, he'd told him, before he left him there to die.

Ducky's hand tightened on Tony's, careful of his splinted finger. The three men were silent.

After a moment, Tony continued. "And the stupid thing was, I didn't even get to see Wilson, let alone kill him. Boss, do you …?"

"Yeah, we know who did", Gibbs said. "It was Simmonds".

"Simmonds?" Tony echoed. "Simmonds! But that's …"

"Crazy?" Gibbs shook his head. "There's no doubt about it, Tony, he left a note for you before he took off".


	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Gibbs gave Tony the details.

Simmonds had been working overtime for weeks; he didn't seem to want to go home, his team-mates said, but they didn't know why.

"I noticed that", Ducky interjected. "Something was obviously troubling him".

"There's a reason", Gibbs said. "I'll come to it".

When Wilson was brought in, Simmonds was still there, asleep at his desk. He woke as Wilson was led cursing down the passage to Interrogation Room 1, in time to hear one of the night shift talking about the drive-by on Tony's place.

As Wilson passed the end of the bullpen, Simmonds recognised him at once as one of the men in the street with Pete when he'd said hello to him. Then Marchetti mentioned that Wilson was one of Baker's thugs, known for his driveby MO, and the penny dropped – he was looking at Pete Fielding's murderer.

"Right", Tony breathed. "He and Pete, they went through college together. Hadn't seen that much of each other the last couple of years, though".

Another one, Gibbs thought, not looking at Ducky. Another link in the chain he hadn't known about. If he'd bothered to find out more about the people he worked with, would he have worked things out faster? He pushed the thought away to look at later.

"So he used his key to get in?" Tony asked, levering himself painfully further up on his pillows. All agents had a key to the interrogation rooms.

Gibbs nodded. "Let himself in. I don't think even he knew why. Probably wanted to tell him he'd ID-ed him with Pete".

"Wait a minute", Tony said, "the guys in the observation room, they didn't spot him?"

"I told you yesterday, DiNozzo, some problem with the recording equipment, they went to find someone to fix it", Gibbs said. Tony frowned, trying to remember through the fog of meds.

Marchetti left Wilson locked in but unwatched. So few people were around that early, he'd gambled on it being OK, a serious breach of procedure that had since cost him a week's suspension without pay. It would have been longer except for his capable backup during the rescue op.

Tony winced. Marchetti was a senior agent, and a good man – that had to hurt. His own suspension had lasted less than a day, in the event, but that had been more than enough. A week would really have stung.

Gibbs resumed the story. Wilson, confronted by Simmonds, taunted him about Pete Fielding.

Dead tired and stressed as he was from the fallout from a bitter divorce and custody case the previous year which had left him looking for comfort in a bottle, the gibes drove him over the top.

"I knew about the drinking", Tony interrupted. "Saw him down at Shooters a few times, falling down drunk". He'd poured Simmonds into a taxi more than once and paid the driver to see him safely home.

"Turns out it was all about Gina Thomson", Gibbs said. After Simmonds' disappearance, the Director had briefed him on the real reason for the transfer to Gitmo.

"Agent Thomson?" Ducky echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Wasn't she on Simmonds' team?"

"Yeah, Duck, that's right", Gibbs said. "Died a couple of weeks ago, the Director spoke at her funeral".

"Of course", Tony chimed in. "That was one of the nights …" One of the nights Simmonds had needed the taxi more than ever. "So they were …?"

"Apparently so", Gibbs nodded. "He left his family for her last year. They kept it quiet so one of them wouldn't be transferred off the team". That alone would have warranted a suspension.

After Gina's funeral, the Director had said, Simmonds had finally confessed the situation and asked for a transfer to Gitmo where he wouldn't be reminded of Gina everywhere he looked. Morrow had agreed, and Paula Cassidy had been standing by to accept him on her team.

"How do you know what Wilson said to him, Jethro?" Ducky asked. "The recording equipment was out, you said?"

"I'll get to that, Duck", Gibbs answered. "Wilson taunted Simmonds about Gina, said he'd been the one to put the bullet in another NCIS agent too. He didn't know she was his lover. Simmonds lost it completely, stabbed Wilson, cut his own hand in the process, hence all the blood". The DNA test had proved it.

Once the fog of rage had cleared, Simmonds left the interview room as unseen as when he entered. He went straight to the airport and took the first available flight out, not caring where, but not before he left a note addressed to Tony on his desk. It hadn't been found and delivered to Gibbs until after Baker's men abducted Tony. The note said simply,"Sorry, DiNozzo".

"But they caught up with him, right?" Tony asked. "How else would you know all this?"

"Right on the money, DiNozzo. Once we read the note and found he was missing, and once Abby's DNA test came back with a match, McGee tracked his movements and we had the San Diego office pick him up. He told them everything. They're on their way back with him now".

"What about Baker?" Tony asked. "He's not going to stop, right? Sally and her family, they're still at risk?"

"No way to tell", Gibbs said. "Baker's lost three key men. Turns out that warehouse was where he kept most of his stuff, the fact that it's empty means he's gone to ground. And Sally and her family are moving to LA". That wouldn't stop Baker if he wanted to find them, but at least there'd be a continent between them, and  
the Director had pulled strings for a watch to be kept.

"We can thank Agent Simmonds, then", Ducky said. "He rid us of one of the worst of them. I'm only sorry it took him down as well".

"Yeah", Tony agreed softly. "He dropped me right in it with Baker, but I can't find it in me to hate him for it. And at least I got payback for the driveby on my place, thanks to him". He shrugged in response to Gibbs' look. "What? I'm not entitled?"

Simmonds had been a good agent, and none of them took pleasure in his downfall. For a moment there was silence in the room.

Ducky broke it. He stood up and peered down at Tony's face. "Good heavens, Anthony, if those circles under your eyes were any blacker I'd say you'd been into Abby's mascara. Don't you think it's time you went back to sleep?"

"Yeah, Duck, in a minute", Tony yawned. He smiled up at the elderly medic. "I know you stayed with me, Ducky, back there in the water. I … thanks. Thanks a lot".

"Oh, my dear boy", Ducky patted his hand, "think nothing of it. I'm just glad to see you safe and sound. I'll expect a pizza and DVD night some time soon, shall I?"

"The ultimate sacrifice, huh, Duck?" Tony grinned, but his voice was beginning to slur. He turned his head to look at Gibbs.

Ducky coughed and said diplomatically, "I'm just going down the corridor, Jethro. Can I bring you some more coffee?" At Gibbs' nod, he left the room, leaving the other two alone.

"Gibbs", Tony said, then stopped. Gibbs said nothing. "Boss", Tony started again, "back there in the water, if it hadn't been for you …"

"Yeah, DiNozzo", Gibbs said. "I'd be training a new agent. Too much trouble, thought I'd stick with the old one. Not that you aren't trouble enough".

Tony responded gratefully to the banter. "Well, now, about that divorce …" Then he said quietly, "Thanks, Boss".

Gibbs nodded. They sat in silence for a moment, Tony's eyelids drifting slowly shut, before he roused himself to say, "Boss, about the Baker op …"

Gibbs stood up abruptly. "Not now, DiNozzo".

"When, then?" Despite his fatigue, Tony hung on.

"Get some sleep", Gibbs said, ignoring the question. He turned to look out of the window at the carpark below. His tone made it clear the subject was closed.

Tony gave up. With a sigh of frustration, he let his head rest back against the pillows and drifted off into oblivion. He didn't hear Ducky come back, didn't see him hand Gibbs his coffee, and didn't hear the two men sink back into their chairs to see him through the night.


	19. Chapter 19

I've decided to put the final two chapters (19 and 20) up together, as they are really two halves of the same scene. This story is now complete. Thanks very much to everyone who's stuck with me for the ride, and I hope you've enjoyed it.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Two weeks later, on a cold and windy night, Gibbs worked silently on his boat, his body bending into the curves as he planed them smooth, his nostrils enjoying the clean woody scent of the shavings that tumbled to the basement floor.

DiNozzo had come back to work that day, slightly paler than usual but full of jokes. They had no new case, so Gibbs had loaded the team up with a pile of cold case folders and set them to sifting through old interviews, looking for new angles.

Business as usual, then, on the surface, yet a stiffness between the two of them remained. Gibbs caught DiNozzo looking at him from time to time, glancing up from his computer when he thought himself unobserved. It was clear Tony wanted to talk, but Gibbs wouldn't give him the chance. He couldn't have said himself why not.

The circles around DiNozzo's eyes told their own story. Gibbs guessed at the nightmares that stalked his nights; he'd been there himself. If they were anything like the one he'd witnessed that first night in the hospital, Gibbs pitied his senior field agent. Thrashing around in the grip of the dream, Tony had woken to find Ducky leaning over him and had believed himself dead and on the autopsy table. It had taken the normally unflappable Ducky quite some time to recover his own composure after Tony's full-throated scream of horror at the sight of his face.

Shifting position as he reached for a piece of sandpaper, Gibbs thought back to that day at the quay.Racked with pain, bound so tightly he could only move his head, and in terror of drowning, Tony had unhesitatingly trusted Gibbs to help him. He'd had no reasonable alternative, true, but a lesser man might have given in to panic. Or a man who couldn't give trust where he knew it to be due.

And of course, Gibbs remembered with a wry grin, DiNozzo's first words through lips blue with cold had been a joke. Trust DiNozzo, Gibbs thought, he couldn't be serious if …

He stopped as the thought took hold of him._Trust DiNozzo_Ducky's words came back to him. He took up the plane again.

Gibbs envied Ducky's ability to express himself. Ducky had laughed at Tony's laboured jokes as he lay on the quay and had ruffled the younger man's hair with a soothing remark or two. It was Ducky who piled on the extra blankets Kate and McGee dug out and shaped them around Tony in a comforting cocoon to help with the awful shivering.

Ducky always knew what to do. Maybe he was right this time too.

The plane slipped as Gibbs jerked impatiently, wrenching away from the turn his thoughts were taking. _Trust DiNozzo_. He did trust him, dammit, there was no-one he'd rather have watching his six. Despite DiNozzo's continual wisecracking, Gibbs knew he was solid to the core.

But he'd kept Tony at arm's length ever since the undercover operation. DiNozzo had been right to follow the Director's orders, Gibbs would have expected no less, and he knew Tony wouldn't have found it easy to cut Gibbs out. Under the circumstances, he could almost find it in him to overlook Tony's failure to fill him in once he could. Almost.

And yet … that old nub of anger over his own experience with Mike still ate away at Gibbs. Hindsight could be a curse sometimes. He couldn't let it go, and it built a wall between himself and his agent. All his instincts were telling him he couldn't let that continue, DiNozzo was too important to the team.

Four in the morning and the wind still howled. If anything, it was stronger now. Boats on the water would be tossing about, but Gibbs' boat stayed serene. He leaned into each long stroke, not needing to look where his hands were going, conscious only of the strength and beauty of the wood emerging silken beneath his hands.

This boat might never sail, but it was his anchor. It was always there, waiting for him, no matter how hard the day had been. Sometimes whole weeks passed when he had no time to give to it. Those were the sweetest times, when he was finally able to return to his labour of love. The soft slurring of the plane against the wood was balm to his soul.

Not tonight, though.

Damn.

He put down his plane and reached for the mug balanced on the crossbeam. The coffee was cold and bitter, but he hardly noticed. Moving away from the boat, he leaned back against the bench, mug in hand, and let his thoughts run free.

A headache, building for hours, now pounded into life. Gibbs closed his eyes and massaged his aching temples. Turning around to dig in a cluttered drawer, he found and swallowed two aspirins with the last of the coffee. A stool lay on the floor near his feet. He kicked it upright and slumped down on to it.

Ducky was right. He wasn't angry with DiNozzo, he was angry with himself.

He'd never forgiven himself for ignoring his instinct and keeping Mike in the dark. Gibbs had been a Marine, he knew the value of orders, but ever since that time when his gut and not the Director had been right he'd trusted his own judgment above all else. It had got him into trouble more than once, but the results hadn't often been bad.

DiNozzo hadn't done that. He'd kept Gibbs out, and Pete Fielding had died. It had raised old ghosts for Gibbs. _Not again_, he'd thought, _not again_! It was true what Ducky said, he couldn't have prevented that accidental meeting in the street, not like Mike could have prevented the earlier deaths if he'd known. But still…

His headache found its second wind.

"Damn you, Duck", he said under his breath. For all that the diminutive medical examiner could rabbit on at times, driving Gibbs to distraction with his off-the-point anecdotes, he'd gone straight to the heart of things this time.

Women were DiNozzo's great weakness. Gibbs hadn't known that friendship was another. Tony talked a lot about his frat brothers, but this was different, it had gone much deeper. Through no fault of his own, Tony hadn't been able to protect a friend. In his own eyes he'd failed, and it hurt him more than any woman ever had. He deserved a hand up.

Deep within Gibbs, some old, long hidden sheet of ice began to crack.

Maybe it was time to open up and do some trusting of his own.


	20. Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

A sound at the top of the stairs had Gibbs on his feet, reaching for the gun that was never far away. Unannounced pre-dawn visitors weren't usually there for cookies and tea.

Straining his eyes to see who owned the legs now coming into view on the stairs, he recognised the pants.

"DiNozzo!" He lowered the gun. "You're lucky you still have your kneecaps. What the hell are you doing here, shouldn't you be asleep or something?"

Gibbs put the gun down and walked to the bottom of the stairs.

"Ah … and good morning to you, Boss", Tony said as he stopped halfway down. He held out a steaming container of coffee. "Thought maybe you could use this". His other hand held a second cup.

Gibbs reached up and took the coffee without comment. He looked Tony over. Apart from the shadows under his eyes, he looked outwardly the same as always, except for a slight tremor in his hands. On edge, Gibbs guessed, driven to come but unsure of his reception.

"Couldn't sleep?" Gibbs asked.

"No".

The nightmares, for sure. He'd have to speak to Ducky about that.

"You should be resting anyway", he growled.

"Too wired". Tony swore softly as the lid came off his coffee and hot liquid splashed over his hand.

"Sit down". Gibbs gestured to the stairs and Tony sat down where he was. Gibbs sat a few steps below him. They sipped their coffee.

"Gibbs, I …"

"Tony, there's …"

They both spoke at the same time. Each acknowledged it with a reluctant half-laugh.

"You first, Boss".

"After you, DiNozzo". An awkward silence ensued before Tony bit the bullet.

"I was following orders, Gibbs", he said, "I know you know that".

"Of course I understand that, DiNozzo!" Gibbs snapped. A short silence ensued.

"I screwed up, though", Tony said finally, "I should have told you once I could".

"Ya think, DiNozzo?" Gibbs squinted up at him and then let fly. "Team members don't hold out on each other. They don't let their personal feelings get in the way of the job. If you don't know that by now, you don't belong on my team".

"You don't want me on your team? Is that what you're saying, Gibbs?" Tony said incredulously.

Gibbs just looked at him over the rim of his coffee container.

Tony flared into anger. "That's over the top, Boss, and you know it. OK, I didn't do the right thing, and you're within your rights to ream me out about it. But fire me? I'm a damn good agent, and you know it".

He paused to think. "There's got to be more to it than that, there just has to be. I've seen you mad before, but never like this. It's as if", he cast about for words, "it's as if you've cut me off somehow in your mind. But why, Gibbs? If I'm going to be fired, I want to know the real reason, and don't goddam tell me there isn't one". He banged his almost empty coffee down on the step beside him.

Gibbs put down his own coffee and looked up at Tony. "You done, DiNozzo?" he asked. "Relax, you're not fired, not this time anyway. Consider yourself on desk work for the next month, though, and …"

Tony finished it for him, "I know, Boss. I won't let it happen again".

"I was going to say", Gibbs said, "I'll be watching you. But that's for sure, DiNozzo, it better not happen again".

Tony nodded, though his face flamed momentarily. Kate and McGee would be bound to notice the disciplinary action, Gibbs thought. They'd see him doing the boring jobs none of them wanted to do, and they'd tease him mercilessly about it, and Tony wouldn't tell them the real reason. But maybe they'd think he was taking it easy while his injuries healed.

_Yeah_, Gibbs thought wryly, _that's what they'll think, all right. _

"Do you miss Pete Fielding, Tony?' he asked quietly.

Tony looked at him, surprised. "He was a good man. A good agent. Sally's taking it hard".

"That's not what I asked".

Tony looked across at the boat. "Yeah, Boss. Yeah, I miss him a lot. He was a good friend, you know?"

"I do now", Gibbs said, so softly that Tony almost missed it.

Tony came back to what was worrying him. "So … that's the only reason you've been mad at me, Boss?"

"Aaah, hell, I don't know". Gibbs said. "It's not just you, it's …" He stopped, stuck for words.

_Don't fudge it, Jethro_, he seemed to hear Ducky say. _You'll never have a better chance_.

He looked at the man on the stairs above him. DiNozzo could be a wild card, but he was, as he said, an excellent agent. A hardworking, smart, damn good agent. Gibbs was happy with his work most of the time. More than that, if he were honest with himself, he liked him, pure and simple. But surely, no matter what Ducky said, that didn't mean he had to spill his guts …

Aah, the hell with it.

Gibbs took a big gulp of coffee, fixed his eyes firmly on the boat and told Tony the story of his own op gone bad.

There was silence in the basement for some time after he finished. When it grew oppressive, Gibbs looked up. Tony was examining his fingernails with care.

"And that's why you're so pissed off at me? Because it brought back that op?"

Gibbs nodded. "I was out of line that night after Fielding's funeral". Not an apology, but close. The words didn't choke him nearly as much as he'd thought they would.

"It's not just me you're mad at, then, is it? Not really", Tony said quietly.

It had been a mistake, Gibbs thought. DiNozzo would take advantage, dig too deep, he never should have told him. He raised his head to snap an answer, half-expecting to see the trademark silly grin, but found only compassion in the tired eyes looking back at him.

A screwdriver balanced precariously on the edge of the bench clattered to the floor, making them both jump. Tony crumpled his empty coffee cup, rose and stretched, hands above his head and mouth open in an expansive yawn. He looked relaxed and graceful, apparently unaffected by sitting cramped up on the stairs or by his only recently mended ribs.

_How the hell does he do it_, Gibbs thought irritably, unobtrusively massaging his own aching joints.

"Thanks, Boss", was all Tony said. "I understand now, but you couldn't have saved Pete". He moved down the stairs past Gibbs to the boat. "You really think you'll ever finish this thing?" he asked casually, but his eyes weren't casual at all. They looked at Gibbs with new respect.

Dammit, did Ducky _always_ have to be right?

"Not if you keep interrupting, DiNozzo", Gibbs retorted. "If you're not going to show some sense and get some sleep, come here and make yourself useful". He handed Tony a plane and showed him where to start. Tony took it from him with a mock scowl but set to willingly enough, his hands, Gibbs noticed, now steady as a rock.

Tony paused for a moment mid-plane. He didn't look at Gibbs as he said, "So … are we good then, Boss?"

"Yeah, DiNozzo, we're good", Gibbs growled. Then he grinned at Tony and threw him a piece of sandpaper.

Sometimes a boat is just a boat. Other times, it can be a lifeline. They worked on till the Farm Report signalled the start of a new day. Then Tony put down his plane, stretched and looked around for his coat.

"Time to head home and get rid of this sawdust. Assuming you want some work out of me today, that is?" He headed for the stairs.

"Depend on it, DiNozzo!" Gibbs growled, putting aside his own plane and picking up an old towel to wipe his hands. "Just one thing, though?"

Tony paused and looked back, waiting.

"Where the hell did you learn to play the piano like that?"


End file.
